


Rollercoaster

by Lilsi



Category: The Bill
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 03:45:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1495360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilsi/pseuds/Lilsi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Authors Summary:  Life has changed for both men in the three weeks since their encounter in  Craig's office.  At work, Craig is quietly rather proud of the police officer Luke is becoming.  His recent, faultless, handling of an incident involving the vapid Kerry Young being taken hostage having been a total contrast to his previous rash  behaviour.  Away from the station they are both aware of problems they have to face. </p><p>Sequel to A Moment or Two</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rollercoaster

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction was once posted at Craiggilmore.co.uk a fan site no longer active, so to preserve this story and others, I am importing them to AO3. I did not want the loss of such a large amount of amazing and wonderful fanfiction, it would be such a waste to fans of Craig Gilmore and Luke Ashton to not have the opportunity to enjoy these stories as i have. Since the site is no longer active i have been unable to contact the creators but if you happen to be them under a new pen name and want the fiction to be removed please send me a note!
> 
> Story written by - Alex

Chapter 1

 

“Have I done something to upset you?” Luke is perched, cross-legged as usual, in the middle of Craig's oversized sofa.  His deep brown eyes are searching Craig's face, a small frown creases his brow.

 

“No.” Craig bends to offer Luke one of the mugs of tea he has brought.

 

“So what's wrong?” Luke barely glances at the mug as he takes it, all his attention is focused on the big Welshman.

 

I'm worried about you.  I know this is hard - know you get scared.  Tell me where you go.  Let me in, let me help.  The words race through Craig's mind, but he can just imagine Luke's reaction to being called scared, so he takes his time, fussing over the coasters on the coffee table, before he straightens up,

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Tell me,” Luke says levelly.

 

Instead, Craig draws a distracting hand slowly over Luke's knee, allowing it to trail along his thigh as he sits down beside him.

 

“Are you interrogating me officer?” He suggestively raises one eyebrow.

 

“Just answer the question please sir,” Luke responds in his best policeman's voice.  Snagging the hand as it reaches his waist and firmly placing it back in Craig's lap: swinging his feet down, safely together, onto the floor at the same time   “Please Craig?  Tell me what's wrong.” Luke reaches for his mug again, bumping against Craig's arm as he does so and takes a sip before continuing.  “Because if it's something I've done-” He takes a larger mouthful and swallows hard.  “Or something I'm _not_ doing-” He glances sharply at Craig, who remains motionless.  “I really think you should tell me.” Luke holds the mug tightly to his chest contemplating its contents.  Don't dump me, don't dump me, please don't dump me, chants the little voice inside his head.

 

Craig is instantly reassuring, “There is no-one I'd rather be with right now.” He takes the mug gently from Luke's grasp, allowing his hand to linger on Luke's a moment longer than necessary.  “And there are no strings attached.  Sleep with me-” Luke tenses beside him.  “Don't sleep with me.  It's your choice, I won't pressure you.  I'll try not to,” Craig says earnestly, and grins his crooked schoolboy grin, the one that Luke is convinced he saves only for him.

 

“Itis a problem then?” Luke is chewing hard on his bottom lip – he is very nervous.

 

“I'm a grown man Luke: 'not having' sex with you is a problem I can deal with, believe me.” Craig captures Luke's face in his hands, his eyes clouded with concern.  “I like touching you, I like _you_ touching me.  I love it when we kiss.” Craig suits the action to the word.  “But this isn't just a physical thing for me, I care for you, you're allowed to say Stop.” Craig's gaze is intense.  “Okay?” He smiles disarmingly.

 

Luke blinks slowly.  “Yes.” He manages at last, his voice catching in his throat.

 

“Well that's sorted at any rate,” Craig says briskly, sinking back into the cushions, feeling pleased with himself.

 

“It's not though is it?”

 

“Not what, Luke?” Craig sounds resigned.

 

“Sorted.  You say it's not the, sex-” Luke stumbles over the word.  “So what is the matter?” Luke puts a tentative hand on Craig's knee.  “Is it because we work together?” Craig covers Luke's hand with his own and remains silent.  Luke is speaking again, “Kerry said-”

 

“Kerry said!” Craig's eyebrows shoot heavenwards.

 

Luke carries on determinedly, “Kerry said you think it's best to steer clear of blokes you work with.”

 

“And just when did she say that?”

 

“The other day in the area car.  She's finally given up on me and is making eyes at Gary instead.”

 

“Oh God!” Craig groans, pulling Luke back against his side.

 

“I know,” sniggers Luke.  “Anyway, she said they'd have to keep it quiet because you wouldn't approve.”

 

“As a sergeant I'd never encourage fellow officers to get involved, realistically though it's bound to happen.  Mostly I try to turn a blind eye, and only get involved if a relationship starts interfering with the job.”

 

“That was very clever!”

 

“What was?” Craig is slightly bemused.

 

“You said that so it applied to gay _and_ straight couples.” Reaching up to kiss Craig's cheek, Luke is surprised to find warm lips against his: teeth graze against the delicate skin inside his lower lip as the kiss becomes deeper.

 

“Thanks,” says a slightly breathless Craig moments later, “it's taken years of practice.”

 

“You mean you weren't always a fabulous kisser?” Luke smirks, taking one last dab at Craig's now slightly swollen mouth.

 

Craig runs his thumb along Luke's jaw, mesmerized by his (oh so kissable) lips.  He is more than happy for the conversation to change direction.  “You think I'm a good kisser?”

 

“God Craig, you know you are, no-one's ever kissed me the way you do.” Luke tumbles his head onto Craig's lap.  “That day in your office, when you kissed me back, that was the best kiss I'd ever had.  I was totally lost in it, I didn't want it to end.  Then,” Luke draws a shaky breath, “when we stopped and reality came crowding back, all I could see was the relief jeering and my mum's face.  I hadn't planned on kissing you, you must know that.  All I knew was, I'd spent all day with you and I couldn't bear for it to be over.”

 

Craig waits quietly: it's obvious the boy has more to say. 

 

Luke rubs his thumb across the ridges in the denim covering Craig's knee.  “People say 'take the plunge' don't they?  Don't you think that sounds bad?  I mean, you could drown couldn't you?”

 

“That's sort of the point Luke.  You're frightened to jump in the water, but when you do you find you can swim after all.”

 

“You're laughing at me now, aren't you?” Luke is pouting slightly as he twists round to peer up at Craig through narrowed eyes.

 

“No I'm not.” But Craig's hazel eyes are twinkling, and he swiftly kisses Luke by way of an apology.

 

Luke shifts slightly on the sofa, settling his head more comfortably onto Craig's thigh.  “Well,” Luke says, “for me it was more like, _stopping_.” He pauses, catching hold of the large hand now resting against his chest and trapping it there.  “Like, like when you first learn to ride a bike, you're a bit wobbly to begin with, but you get used to it.  Then one day, you're pedalling along, and you get worried you'll topple over when you stop.”  Luke is slowly tracing the outline of each of Craig's fingers in turn.

 

“And?” prompts Craig, savouring the sensation.

 

“You go a lot further than you mean to.  Anyone watching thinks you're doing great, but your legs feel funny and you're not enjoying yourself any more.”  Luke stops and raising Craig's hand to his lips kisses the palm.  Craig responds by tousling Luke's hair with his free hand.  “I _knew_ how to be straight.  I worried sometimes that I wasn't enjoying it as much as everyone else seemed to but, I didn't know I could stop.  Never expected...” Luke is embarrassed: it is a lot more than he had intended to say.  “I'd never looked at another bloke until I met you,” he finishes quietly.  “You make me so nervous.” 

 

Craig is holding Luke's hand tightly.  “I want to give you all the space you need.  Take it as slow as you like.” 

 

Luke snatches his hand away irritably.  “It's not as if I'm a virgin Craig!  I've had sex before.” 

 

“You've had sex with women Luke, and from all you've said, it obviously meant very little to you.  But that isn't what I'm talking about.”

 

A faint tremor runs through Luke's body.  “It isn't?”

 

“Why do I make you nervous?” Craig settles an encouraging hand on Luke's shoulder.

 

“I don't know really, you just do.” Luke closes his eyes trying to contain his mounting panic.  “I don't want to lose you.” They flutter open at the realisation.

 

“Do you think that's likely?”

 

“You left Sean!”

 

“We'd been together nearly four years!”

 

Luke's insides are churning, he feels he could be sick at any moment and struggles to sit up.  “I won't know how to make you happy.” 

 

“Is that what happened when you slept with girls?  They couldn't make you 'happy' so you left them?”

 

“It...” The words stick in Luke's throat.  “It wasn't like that.”

 

“You think so little of me that you believe I'd treat anyone that badly!” Craig's anger is mounting.

 

“No I...” Luke feels like he is drowning.  He can scarcely breathe.  “I'm GAY Craig!” the words burst from him, “I'm gay and as soon as I accept that, my life will get a lot easier.”

 

“It's not easy being gay!” Craig bites back. 

 

“But you...”  Luke trails off, shaking his head sadly.  That wasn't what he'd meant at all.

 

“I what? Luke.” 

 

“You...” It's no use.  Even if he could find the right words now, Craig's too angry to listen.

 

“You think it was easier for me, that somehow it's so much harder for you than for anybody else?  How self-centred can you get!” The disappointment on Craig's face is more than Luke can bear.  “I've known I'm gay for almost 20 years Luke, I think I've earned the right to be comfortable with my sexuality by now.” His voice is harsh.

 

“Sorry,” Luke mutters, stroking Craig's cheek, delighting in the faint scratch of stubble beneath his fingers. 

 

Craig's anger is evaporating almost as fast as it boiled up.  “It's never easy Luke,” he says quietly.

 

“Sorry,” Luke says again, resting his forehead on Craig's shoulder, willing him to continue.

 

“I had a crush on a boy at school, Dafydd his name was, he was 16 and the best rugby player our school had.  I was so pleased when I was selected to play on the team with him.” Craig smiles at the memory.  “I was 14.  Well, you know how it is after training and matches, everyone showering, getting changed.” Craig drops his chin to his chest, silently berating himself for feeling embarrassed now.  “So, one day, I found myself looking at him and liking what I saw.”

 

“Was he...?” Luke is staring up at him round eyed.

 

“No he wasn't, and he wasn't stupid either.  Towards the end of the season he grabbed me one evening.” Luke frowns.  “He told me to meet him behind the Science Block after school the next day.  I was scared, terrified really if you must know, but I had to go.  During the day I got myself really worked up, and by the time 4 o'clock came I was mad, blazing mad.” Involved in his story, Craig is unaware how pale Luke has become.  “Everything was his fault I'd decided.  His fault I couldn't take my eyes off him.  His fault I was so confused all the time.  The first thing I did when I saw him was take a swing at him!” Feeling Luke stiffen beside him, Craig drops a comforting arm around his shoulders.

 

“What happened?”  Luke's hand creeps across Craig's chest, between his shirt buttons and onto the warm skin beneath.

 

“He knocked me down.” The hand stops, and withdraws rapidly.  Looking down, Craig is concerned to find Luke staring up at him blindly.  “What's wrong Luke?” Craig reaches out to him.  “Luke?”

 

“There was a boy at my school.” Luke sits up abruptly, retreating, his face bleak.  “Carl his name was, Carl Jones, he was a right bastard, always calling someone fag or queer if they were little bit different or quiet.  He bullied me for years.  Then one day he came screaming out of the closet and somehow it made him even worse.  He'd push me up against a wall and say, 'How d'ya want it Lukey boy?'” Luke clutches at Craig.  “Did he know?  I didn't know!  How could _he_ know?”  Luke's deep brown eyes desperately search Craig's face.

 

“He didn't,” Craig has Luke in his arms.  “He was a thug.”  Craig closes his eyes wondering if he should continue, before gathering Luke more tightly against his side.  “He actually probably like-”

 

Luke doesn't want to hear it, he struggles free, eyes blazing.  “I think,” he grinds out, “I need a beer.”

 

Craig follows him slowly to the kitchen.  He finds Luke already has two bottles out of the fridge and is jerkily opening and closing one drawer after another, searching. 

 

“I'm not saying he was making a pass at you.”  Craig calmly reaches the bottle opener down from its hook and picks up a beer.  “Just the opposite really.”  He levers the lid off and sets the bottle back on table.  He is watching Luke carefully, ready to stop him when he bolts.

 

Luke is picking at the label on his beer.  “He was foul.  He made me feel dirty!  His hands on me.  It was-” Luke wrenches the opener from Craig's hand and struggles with the cap.  “It was-” Words fail him, and bottle and opener are thrown violently into the sink.  Luke remains bowed over it, fiercely gripping the cold stainless steel for support.  He is totally aware of how very close Craig is standing.  He closes his eyes, it should be easy just to lean back and let himself be comforted.  God knows he wants to... Craig's breath is warm on the back of his neck as he speaks.

 

“Homophobia's a shield for some people.  I expect when he found he couldn't bear to hide behind it any longer, he wouldn't dare lose face by admitting that he...” Craig falters, uncertain how to go on.

 

“That he what?  Craig!” Luke whirls round, his face defiant, his voice raised angrily.  “That he fancied me!” Luke spits the words out, leaning back away from Craig, denying himself any consolation.  Resisting the urge to gather Luke into his arms Craig reaches past him to the sink, only to find Luke suddenly huddled tightly against him.  “I hated him so much,” he mutters against the soft stuff of Craig's shirt.

 

“It's okay,” Craig says soothingly, enveloping Luke in his strong arms, “He's not here now.  I am.”

 

Luke sniffs hard, firmly quashing the tears which are threatening to flow.  “You don't really think he liked me do you?”

 

Craig drops a kiss onto Luke's head.  “I'm sorry Luke, but him taking his anger out on you fits the pattern.”

 

“Pattern?”  Luke's face is still buried against Craig's chest.

 

“Confusion, denial, anger, acceptance.”  Craig waits for Luke to process the information.  “Sounds familiar doesn't it?”

 

“Oh.” It's a very short sound, nearly ended before it's begun.  Luke finally manages to lift his head to look at Craig, his dark eyes bright with unshed tears.  “Is it like that for everyone?”

 

“Well, when you first realised you were attracted to me, the last thing you wanted to do was acknowledge it,” says Craig.  “At work you were so angry all the time, taking valid criticisms like personal insults.  Constantly putting yourself in danger.  I couldn't see what you were trying to prove.  Then you sat in the car with me outside that park and told me you were straight.”  Craig rubs Luke's back comfortingly.  “The thing is Luke, _that_ was when I first knew.  You said you were straight, but everything else about you that night told me you were scared.  Scared I'd noticed you were interested in me.”  Craig steps away, rubbing a hand across his face.

 

Luke touches Craig's arm gently.  “You mean you hadn't?”

 

“Luke the first time I saw you, you were stark bollock naked, gorgeous and dripping wet in a shower!  I thought I'd become the worst sort of poof ever, and was lusting after a beautiful, straight PC.  I was far too busy being angry with myself, and terrified for you, to notice.”

 

“Gorgeous?  Beautiful?”  queries Luke.

 

“Don't let it go to your head,” Craig says, retrieving the bottle from the sink and opening it. 

 

Luke jumps up onto the work surface, idly swinging his feet against the cupboard door below him as he drinks.  Sitting at the table, chair pushed back, long legs sprawled in front of him as usual, his beer clasped loosely in his hand, Craig finds this intensely irritating.  Seeing the look on his face, Luke stops. 

 

“When you realised you liked that boy.  When you realised you had feelings for him, that must have been confusing.” Luke's heart is aching for the 14 year old Craig.  “What happened with him?”

 

“Dafydd?”

 

Luke nods hesitantly. 

 

“A most amazing thing happened actually.”  Craig is smiling again.  “I was lying on the ground, with him standing over me, and he says, 'So, d'you want Help or Not?'”

 

“He said what?”

 

“He said, 'Do you want Help or Not?'” Craig repeats kindly.  “We ended up sitting on the concrete, surrounded by all the usual playground rubbish, with Dafydd telling me that he's noticed me looking at him, and that he's pretty sure he knows why, because he's got an older cousin who's gay.  And, if I wanted someone to talk to he's sure Owen wouldn't mind.  Well, you know, it wasn't _that_ easy, obviously.  I walked home in the dark that night, but that's what it boiled down to.”

 

“So did you?  Talk to him?”

 

“Not then, I didn't.  I wasn't ready.  Later on I did.  Owen's still a good mate: I'll introduce you to him, one day.”

 

A shaft of jealousy burns its way painfully into Luke's chest. 

 

Craig takes a mouthful of beer, then lifts his eyes to meet Luke's gaze.  “And there's no need for you to be jealous either, in case you're wondering, we were never lovers.” 

 

It has turned into a long evening and Craig is tired, but it still isn't over.  Luke has been thinking, he stops drinking and smiles impishly.  “If you'd already realised,” he says slowly, “that means that all that day, when we were searching for Reg you knew.  So all that stuff about acting like grown-ups and making decisions...” 

 

Craig shifts guiltily in his seat, his face reddening.  “I, er, already knew you hadn't slept with Kerry as well, she'd told me earlier in the day.”

 

“So you deliberately set out to trap me?” Luke hops lightly to the floor, his face unreadable.

 

“You know I couldn't make the first move.” Craig is growing nervous.

 

Luke comes closer and, placing his hands on Craig's shoulders, deposits himself astride Craig's legs.  “I think,” he says menacingly, sliding his hands up the back of Craig's neck and seizing him forcefully by the hair,  “that, that-” Luke's lip curls, his teeth rake against Craig's exposed throat.  “Was a very _mean_ thing to do,” he whispers, his lips gentle at the corner of Craig's mouth,  “it may take me-” Luke's tongue darts into Craig's mouth, which is sweet with the taste of malt.  “A very long time to forgive you.” Luke smiles sweetly and kisses Craig more deeply.  He is in familiar territory here, but he knows that soon this wonderful feeling, which is currently causing his toes to curl involuntarily; this delicious ache, that will spread up into his thighs and that will make his mouth dry with anticipation.  That, very soon now, this beautiful thing will vanish, and he will be left feeling cheated, deprived and empty once again.  He knows this, even as his hands mould to Craig's skull drawing him in ever deeper, even as his fingers sweep, over the broad shoulders to trail down Craig's spine.  Worse, he knows Craig knows it too and there's not a bloody thing either of them can do about it. 

 

Kissing

Amongst the things Craig has learned about Luke in the twenty something days they have been together is the fact that he prefers to kiss with his eyes closed, and he loves being kissed in return.  Luke is not a sloppy kisser, his tongue darts and explores, softens and invites.  And he knows how to use his teeth - parting Craig's lips with tiny, teasing, touches, or firmly tugging on Craig's lower lip before applying them to his tongue and the tender skin inside.  After their first meeting at 'The Gloucester' he had even surprised Craig who had thought rather jadedly that, by then, he must have been kissed in every conceivable place and way.  Running his tongue over and around Craig's teeth then hooking upwards, allowing its tip to flick the alveolar before lapping outwards, finally capturing Craig's top lip gently with his teeth.  As Craig enjoys kissing almost more than any other part of the lovemaking process he finds that kissing Luke is a wonderful experience.  In fact, if it were not entirely inappropriate just now, he is almost convinced he could climax solely from Luke kissing him on the mouth.  Not that Luke only kisses him on the mouth.  In the time they have been dating (Luke is still living with his mother) he has kissed and caressed Craig's fingers, arms, chest, shoulders, neck, his face and even his hair.  Everywhere he can access, in fact, without removing any of Craig's clothes. 

This is fine with Craig, after all, Luke had said he needed to take things slowly.

 

If there is one thing Luke has learned about Craig Gilmore, since they got together, it is that he is a terrific kisser.  His lips are warm and yielding, his tongue seductive, inviting Luke in to caress  and be caressed.  It invades him, but it is not selfish or stabbing, being generous and gentle by nature.  He rarely bares his teeth, but rather curls his lips delicately about them as though to protect Luke from harm.  It is nothing like the greedy, wet, thrusting of the girls, who had scarcely bothered to remove the gum from their mouths before spreading their legs and manipulating him until they'd had their fill. 

It was the discovery that kissing can actually be a pleasurable activity that causes Luke to close his eyes in concentration.  Some primitive instinct that leads him to explore the alien environment which is Craig with his lips, tongue and teeth.  But not before he had thoroughly mapped the geography of Craig's wonderful mouth with his tongue.

 

That Craig had not taken him immediately to his bed has left Luke confused and uncertain because, of course, he's never been in a relationship before.

 

 

Chapter 2

 

Craig is back at his kitchen table, a large glass of scotch before him, his head in his hands.  He hadn't meant the evening to end like this.  He hates that Luke seems convinced that all he wants from him is sex, but that's no excuse to get mad.  No matter what reassurances he offers, Luke seems to think that he's going to get tired of waiting and then this – whatever it is they've got – will end.  He drains his glass before placing it in the sink to deal with in the morning, and makes his way slowly to bed.

 

Luke is lying on his own bed, in his own room, on his own.  Alone.

He closes his eyes, and slides his hand across his chest, imagining it is Craig's.  Craig's tongue swirling around his nipples before sweeping down across his ribs to the flat of his belly.  Craig's fingers stroking down his sides to smooth over the tightening muscles in his thighs. 

Craig's hands beneath him. 

Craig grasping. 

Enveloping him. 

The sinews in Luke's neck tighten as he begins to orgasm, his back arching from the bed.  Still alone, and more achingly lonely than before. 

 

Craig has spent a restless night, his thoughts full of Luke.  Work Luke, now more confident and assured, getting on with the job.  Private Luke, playful and smiling.  Distant Luke, retreating from intimacy.  Luke leaving, lonely and unreachable. 

 

Now, as he prepares for work his mind is still racing.  Luke had kissed him first!  Nervous and unsure he'd nearly bolted, but afterwards they'd talked for hours.  The next day, after a shaky start, had ended with them locked in a passionate embrace.  Since then, they've enjoyed some fairly heavy petting, but he has always been careful not to push too hard, too fast.  Luke has baulked at removing any of his clothing and he has respected that boundary in return.  Hands and mouths have wandered but always, on his part anyway, without haste or urgency.  Knowing that when the time is right, _that's_ when they'll make love.  When Luke kisses him, it's hard not to be swept away - but no matter how urgently Luke tries to prove he is ready for sex the time is still, very obviously, not right.

 

Luke had finally fallen asleep to dream of Craig.  Craig and him together, doing the things that couples do: sharing a meal, laughing together, walking in the park.  He had woken up sweating, before he had to watch Craig walking away from him again, never looking back, just as he has every other night this week.

 

Craig has managed to make it through the day without Gina Gold (wicked witch and sometime hag) catching him with his mind on Luke instead of the job.  He is now back at home, showering before Luke arrives.  As the spray washes over him he is still going over the things Luke had said:

 

“You make me nervous.”

 

I won't know how to make you happy.”

 

“I don't want to lose you!”

 

“You left Sean.”

 

For the first time it occurs to Craig that Luke might not have been talking about sex.

 

“I'm sorry about last night,” Craig says over their dessert plates.

 

Luke lays a sticky finger on his lips to silence him.  “You've nothing to be sorry about, hardly a major domestic was it?” And grins as Craig seizes the opportunity of a last taste of chocolate cake.

 

“Can we talk about it?” Craig still has hold of Luke's hand.

 

Luke's mouth is suddenly dry, he disengages his hand from Craig's grasp.  “I think I need a coffee after all that cake, d'you want one?” He scrapes his chair back from the table.

 

Craig sighs - he's in for another long evening.  “Coffee would be great,” he agrees, “but _then,_ we talk.” 

 

“You won't leave me alone till we do, will you?”

 

“If you can't talk to me who can you talk to?” Craig replies reasonably.

 

Luke resigns himself to the inevitable.  “Go and sit down.  I'll be through in a minute.” 

 

He makes the drinks as slowly as possible. 

 

Coffees finished, Craig appears to be in no hurry, after all, to start talking.  As Luke sits on the floor between his legs Craig is seemingly content just to be massaging his shoulders.  Luke wriggles slightly and Craig moves his thumbs obligingly. 

 

“Better?” 

 

“Mmm, yeah thanks.” Despite his best efforts Luke is beginning to relax, another few minutes of this and he won't be able to keep anything hidden for very long.  That's **if** Craig ever starts asking questions.

 

“You're all right with this aren't you?”  Craig applies more pressure.

 

Luke inclines his head, stretching his neck.  “It feels great.”

 

“And this?” Craig works his hands forward onto Luke's chest as he bends to kiss the nape of his neck.  “You enjoy this, don't you?”

 

“You know I do.” Highly appreciative of the fact that Craig has chosen to wear short sleeves, Luke is rewarding him by nipping a path from fingertips to biceps.  As he turns into the embrace, he finds Craig regarding him with heavy lidded eyes. 

 

“You just love making out, don't you?” he says, pulling Luke up on top of him and kissing him very thoroughly.

 

Luke's eyes are shining brightly when he finally manages a reply.  “It _is_ very nice,” he agrees, snuggling down with his cheek against Craig's chest.

 

There is a knot in the pit of Craig's stomach as he wraps his arms loosely around Luke's slender form. 

 

“And then it stops being nice?”

 

Luke clings to him as he plucks at the fabric covering Craig's heart, considering.

 

“No.”

 

The heart contracts and skips a beat.

 

“I think,” Luke addresses Craig's heart directly, “I think it gets too nice.” 

 

As the blood rushes back through his system once more Craig finds he is still talking to the top of Luke's head.

 

“When you said I make you nervous, I thought you meant I scared you.”

 

“I scare myself.”

 

“Last night-” begins Craig.

 

“ _I was drowning,_ ” says Luke.

 

“I'd assumed you were -”

 

“ _It would have been so much easier -_ ”

 

“hung up about sex -”

 

“ _if you'd just taken me straight to your bed -_ ”

 

“like you thought it was all I wanted from you -”

 

“ _I wouldn't have minded, sex is nothing -_ ”

 

“That nothing I said about the way I feel was sinking in -”

 

 _“Was_ _nothing -_ ”

 

“I didn't know -”

 

“ _Why must you care so much? -_ ”

 

“you were trying to tell me -”

 

“ _Why did you have to make me feel? -_ ”

 

“how you feel -”

 

“ _I love you!_ ”

 

There is a moment of total quiet and stillness before Luke dares to look up at Craig.  Of all the reactions he could have expected, tears silently spilling down Craig's face would not have been one of them.

 

** Crying **

 

'Men don't cry' his father had been adamant about that. 

No matter that Luke had only been seven years old at the time, sobbing into his pillow as, below him, his father raged and his mother pleaded.  Dreading the sound of the heavy foot on the stair; the hand at the door; the fist that would send him reeling, giving him ‘something to cry for’. 

His very first day at Sun Hill had brought him close to tears.  His time in the Sudan had sometimes brought him closer.  But Craig Gilmore? Craig Gilmore will have him in tears for entirely different reasons if he's not careful.

 

 

** Chapter 3 **

Craig snatches a tissue from the box that has appeared on his lap.  The hand at his back circles slowly between his shoulder blades, soft words are being whispered close against his ear.  Luke might as well be reciting all the names of the relief alphabetically - Craig is only aware of the feel of the hand and the sound of the voice.  He mops his face dry. 

 

“Sorry.” Eyelashes flutter against Craig's cheek.  “It was too much wasn't it?”

 

“No,” replies Craig squeezing Luke's hand as it lies comfortingly on his thigh.  “Don't apologise,” he says huskily, “don't ever apologise for that.”

 

“I've never said it to anyone like that before.” Luke is feeling rather giddy. 

 

“I've never heard it said quite like that before.” Craig smiles soggily.  “I over-reacted.  It's just, you took me by surprise that's all.  You don't do things by halves do you?”

 

“I couldn't bear it any more, not being able to explain how I felt,” Luke's buries his face into Craig's shoulder.  “Didn't have the words.  Hadn't realised that's what it was.  I thought love was, you know, hearts and flowers and mushy stuff.  Not stomach churning, and confusion and, and needing someone so much it hurts.”

 

“You have got it bad haven't you?” Craig's fingers ruffle Luke's hair.

 

Luke butts his head against Craig's jaw.  “Very bad.” Nothing feels quite real, except the  staccato rattle of Craig's heart beneath his head - that betrays his nervousness when he speaks.

 

“Sleep here tonight?  Wake up with me tomorrow?”

 

Luke pushes away from him, studying Craig's face intently.  It isn't even as if he knows what he's looking for, but there's something - perhaps it's a promise, maybe it's hope – in the deep brown eyes staring back at him.

 

“Yes.”

 

***

 

Luke's state of euphoria lasts as far as the bedroom, only beginning evaporate when he finds himself sitting on the edge of Craig's king-size bed.   Luke chews his lip as he tries not to notice how the sheer masculinity of its square, wrought iron framework dominates the room.  He hasn't ventured in here before, hasn't dared.  Craig is kneeling on the floor in front of him, one hand on his knee.

 

“You don't have to stay.”

 

Dumbly Luke reaches for Craig's collar in reply, his fingers trembling.  He fumbles with the top button for a while before Craig raises his own hands, undoes the shirt and stands to shrug himself out of it.  Luke rises with him, lifting it from his shoulders, hands cool against Craig's skin.  His attention is caught by a cluster of small coral coloured scars on the soft flesh of Craig's flank.  He watches Craig's face whilst his fingers explore the place gently, as if afraid they may still cause pain. 

 

“What did this?”

 

“A couple of 'guard' dogs.” Craig meets his gaze.  It's not normally something he likes to discuss, but Luke might need - something.

 

Luke takes Craig's arm, turning him to survey the extent of the damage.  The scars on Craig's back are mostly paler, but this is obviously where he had borne the brunt of the attack.  It is here Luke finds the shallow irregular depressions where skin has been lost and the faint silver stripes of claw marks. 

 

“They healed well,” Luke says knowledgeably.  “How long...?”

 

Busy on the floor, removing their footwear, Craig doesn't look up.  “I was a probationer – must be ten years ago now.”

 

Luke tangles his fingers through the hair at his waist to steady himself for a moment.  “What happened?”

 

Craig shrugs diffidently and reaches for the bottom of Luke's snug fitting jersey, lifting it smoothly up.  “They got loose from a scrap-yard, went for a little girl playing nearby.  I was just in the right place at the right time.”

 

Luke's head reappears.  “And?”

 

“There are advantages to being big-” Craig's hands are at his belt, Luke moves to help him.  “I scooped her in, curled up, and waited.  Help was on the way.”  Luke's fingers work the zipper.  “My puppy walker read me the riot act after, but he'd have done the same if he'd been twenty years younger.”

 

They are both a little surprised to find that Luke is now nearly naked.  He dithers for a moment by the bed, goose-bumps prickle on his skin.

 

Craig flicks back the duvet, “Get in.”

 

“But...”

 

“Just get in Luke,” Craig says again, not without compassion, but it's the rasp of his zip sliding undone that galvanizes Luke into action.  He scrambles onto the bed and sits, bolt upright against pale blue pillows, watching. 

 

“Scoot over!” Craig is wearing boxers, stretchy white cotton boxers with a button fly, when he joins Luke in the bed drawing the duvet up with him.  Luke settles into the crook of Craig's arm and sees his own fingers flex into the crisp hair sprinkled across the broad chest which is now serving as his pillow.  This feels better than he had imagined.  He grins.  This feels a lot better than he had ever imagined.

 

“Craig?” A tentative upsweep from chest to the hollow at the base of Craig's throat.

 

“Hmm?” A slow, lazy hand, totally comfortable with Luke's skin, catches his fingers.

 

“I'm not sleepy.” And Luke launches himself at the older man - kissing him hard.  It takes a moment for him to realise that Craig is not responding.  That Craig's mouth is actually moving against his in protest and his hands are working to extricate himself from the embrace.  Finally he manages to twist his face away. 

 

“Don't.” Craig sounds raw, strained.  He has Luke's wrists firmly enclosed in his large capable hands.  They both have a distinct feeling of déjà vu.

 

“What?” Luke pants.

 

“It's not why I asked you to stay.”

 

“But I'm in your bed.” Luke frowns down on him, genuinely confused.

 

“That doesn't mean this has to happen.”

 

“I'm in your bed!”

 

“That doesn't mean _this_ has to happen.  Have you never gone to bed with someone just to be with them?” It is the wrong thing to ask.  The instant the words leave his mouth Craig knows it.  He might just as well have emptied a bucket of cold water over Luke's head because he actually flinches.  “You haven't have you?” Craig says as realisation dawns. “You only went to bed to -” The rest of what he might say is lost as Luke's voice cuts harshly across it.

 

“To shag Craig, to screw.  It's what they wanted.”

 

“You didn't even like them did you?”

 

“They liked me!” Luke squirms in his grasp.  “I thought they did.  I didn't dislike them, just - I didn't like them using me.”

 

“Christ!” If advice has been written about situations like this then Craig has not come across any of it.

 

Luke is struggling against him in earnest now.  “Let me go.  Please!”

 

“Stay.”

 

“I need...” But what Luke actually needs is unclear to him.  “I need to use the loo.” He is off the bed as soon as Craig allows and scrambling back into his trousers.

 

Luke sits unthinking in the bathroom and, after a decent interval, makes his way slowly back across the landing.  Craig is trying, unsuccessfully, not to look anxious.  Luke has been gone for ten long minutes.  They both glance at the pile of clothing on the floor as Luke walks determinedly past it to the bed.  He perches for a while on the edge, long enough to be aware that Craig makes no move towards him.  Removing his trousers once more he climbs awkwardly back under the covers.  Yet he finds it is a relief after all to have come back here to this man, who opens his arms for him and holds him close: which makes words seem unnecessary right now.  Luke strokes the arm curled about his waist and is comforted. 

 

Before long they talk quietly, inconsequentially, of unimportant things and finally fall asleep.

 

 

** Beginnings **

 

In the way of fledgling relationships everywhere, things of Luke's start appearing in Craig's home: a change of clothes, fresh underwear, the brand of coffee he prefers to drink.  He buys himself a new toothbrush and razor and places them alongside Craig's in the bathroom together with a simple bag of toiletries.  These are the outward signs of the forward motion of their relationship, along with a shiny new key nestling amongst his own on Luke's keyring. 

 

 

** Chapter 4 **

 

When Craig had booked leave a few months ago they (Sean and he) had idly played with the idea of going to Europe for a week to take in some culture.  Somewhere like Austria or Hungary that they could get to with last minute, cheap flight booking.  Now the time has come, Craig has no intention of flying off and leaving Luke to his own devices, choosing instead to stay home and explore the vast urban sprawl that is London.  They fall into a routine: Luke turns up everyday after his shift finishes and over coffee - drunk in the kitchen - they talk about his day.  Then they both consider the subject closed and the evening their own.  Take away food one day; home cooked roast chicken dinner with all the trimmings - Luke's favourite - the next; followed by video rentals with popcorn and beer.  Craig's off duty and Luke hadn't known he could be this relaxed.  They rest on the sofa head to toe, legs tangled, and Craig idly rubs Luke's socked feet recounting how he's found a great bakery in a side street in Wimbledon, or a deli in Camden.  Stretched out on the floor together Luke massages Craig's back whilst attempting to read the newspaper over his shoulder. 

 

And sometimes - though not every night - Luke chooses to stay.

 

For Luke it is a strangely liberating experience to pet and cuddle and then sleep.  To explore how to touch and be touched.  He had not realised, until he had been made to stop, just how much he had been performing for the older man.  Now that he doesn't feel he has to prove himself he feels a lot less needy: as a result he has almost stopped wanking in the shower.  Not so Craig who now deals with 'not having' sex with Luke quietly and efficiently, with increasing frequency, in the privacy of the bolted bathroom. 

 

It is during this time an unwelcome thought comes to Luke: that his sexually aggressive manner towards Craig had been too like the behaviour of those girls who had known him in his teenage years.  It worries him.  When he can bear to he takes this thought out and examines it carefully. 

 

He is examining it one day after work as he soaks in the bath.

 

Did Craig like him when he behaved like that?  Did he even enjoy it?  It had certainly seemed to get the right reaction, Craig aroused and, Luke thought, responsive.  But the teenaged him had got hard too, and he knows for certain now that that isn't the same as enjoyment. 

 

Did he like himself when he'd behaved like that?  Is that why he hasn't been able to make himself go all the way?  Because he despises himself for acting that way with another man?  Trying to use someone else the way others had used him? 

 

Luke doesn't want to let himself think like that.  So very conveniently and with very little conscious effort he doesn't.  He wonders instead what it was he did wrong.  What part of his technique was faulty that he hadn't got this man to have sex with him?  There must be _something_ because, even after he'd told Craig he loved him, Craig had still stopped him.  Not that he'd probably needed to of course, his own body would have seen to that.  He loves Craig!  Craig cares for him and wants to make love to him.  With him.  So why can't he - Luke Ashton - Make, It, Work?

 

Telepathy must exist: no sooner than Luke had started thinking about him Craig appears, standing in the bathroom doorway, watching him.  Luke hadn't even heard the rap on the door he'd been so lost in thought.

 

“Penny for them.” Craig offers, pushing up his sleeves.

 

“What?  Sorry,” Luke stammers , “I was thinking, wondering really, if you like...” He pauses while he struggles to form a coherent sentence.

 

“If I like what?  Curry?  Fish and chips?” Craig prompts with a smile.  He gestures to the mass of foam surrounding Luke's prone body.  “Cinnamon scented bubble bath?”  Luke's choice of bubble bath amuses Craig, not because of how it smells - rather pleasant in a sweetly spicy way - but because it is actually called 'Cinnamon Buns'.  Craig has a wicked enough sense of humour to see a funny side to that, even if it didn't come with a recipe printed on the label that includes the instruction “beat to desired stiffness”.  Craig squats down beside the tub and grabs a flannel, plunging it into the warm water by Luke's hip.

 

A mini tidal wave rolls down the bath as Luke sits up - drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them - to allow Craig to wash his back: there is silence as he lathers Luke's tautly muscled shoulders and soaps down his spine.  When he has finished sluicing Luke down Craig rests his forearms on the side of the bath, the still dripping cloth dangling loosely in his grasp, rocking back on his heels he looks at Luke.

 

“Sorry Luke, I shouldn't have interrupted you.  What were you wondering?”

 

Luke licks his lips nervously, even with the extra time the back scrub had given him he hasn't figured out how to phrase what he needs to ask.  Craig isn't helping either, sitting there waiting.  Watching. 

 

“I was wondering,” he begins uncertainly.  Staring at the beautiful mouth only inches away he comes to a sudden decision.  “If you like it when I do this?” Luke slides a damp hand into Craig's hair, holding him still as he nips once, not altogether gently, at Craig's lower lip before biting a gentler trail along his jaw and then retreating to the end of the bath as abruptly as he'd begun.

 

Blinking slowly a couple of times Craig deliberates on how he should answer and watches the doubt creep into Luke's eyes. 

 

“I like it,” he says matter of factly.  He dunks the flannel again and slips his hand beneath the water: lifting Luke's foot above the foam he begins to wash it gently starting with the delicate spaces between his toes.  “I like it a lot.” He transfers his attention from the pinkly soft foot and meets Luke's gaze.  “But you're not really asking if I like 'What' you do, are you?”

 

Luke shakes his head, mutely.

 

“You're really asking 'How?' aren't you?” 

 

Luke's nod when it comes is barely perceptible.

 

“If I didn't like how you touch me Luke.” Craig takes Luke's other ankle and talks as he washes.  “I'd tell you.  Just like I'd expect you to tell me.” He kisses the ball of Luke's foot and proceeds to lick his way to the arch.  Luke squirms, slipping down the bath slightly.

 

“Tickles,” he gasps, continuing to squirm as Craig's tongue flickers against his skin.  “Craig, please stop.”

 

“Don't you like it?” 

 

“Not like that!” 

 

Craig shifts his grip and massages his thumbs deeply along the length of Luke's sole. “Better?”

 

“Much.” Luke relaxes into the bubbles and gives himself up to Craig's skilful ministrations.

 

“See how easy that was?”  Craig slips Luke's foot back into the water and wrings out the flannel.  “Everyone's different Luke, just because I like it when you're a little, 'aggressive' doesn't mean that _I_ need to be.  You mustn't think that.  You believe me don't you?”

 

Luke blushes faintly.  “What if I want you to be?” he asks quietly.

 

Craig levers himself from the floor.  “Do you want me to be?”  He's puzzled, Luke hasn't, in his albeit limited experience, reacted well when he has bared his teeth in return.  In fact he has found it the quickest way to ruin a perfectly good evening.  “If you did, I could, we'd work it out.  There's no set formula for this you know and there's other things I like just as much.  It's not painting by numbers – you can't follow the instructions for a guaranteed result every time." 

 

Luke isn't looking at him, “I didn't mean...” The flush is spreading down across his chest.  -

 

Craig leans back against the towel rail, considering.  “What?” 

 

The colour rises until Luke can feel the tips of his ears burning: he splashes his face with some of the rapidly cooling bathwater.  “Could you pass me a towel please?”  And it's not that he doesn't want to be naked in front of Craig.  It's just he doesn't want to be _any more naked_ in front of Craig right now.  And he should have known Craig would understand, because he turns and flicks a towel over his shoulder then gives him plenty of time to have it knotted firmly round his waist before he bothers to turn back.

 

“You know, it's not my aim to ever make you feel uncomfortable about anything we might do together.”

 

 _Might_ thinks Luke dejectedly - and telling himself the space is so small he has no choice - he steps closer to Craig.  “It's just,” Luke says quietly as he reaches round him for another towel.  “I always seem to be starting something with you.” Craig is wearing far too many clothes, Luke thinks, to be comfortable in the stifling heat of this room. 

 

“D'you need me to do that?” Craig could simply be offering to dry him because he takes the towel from Luke's nerveless fingers, but they both know he's not.

 

Craig's towels have never seen soft rinse.  As Craig works his way methodically down Luke's body the towel scrunches against his skin and Craig's warm mouth follows.  Along Luke's shoulders, across his chest – where the flat of Craig's tongue across a nipple leaves him tingling with anticipation.  Returning to the base of his throat when a bead of water seeps from his still damp hair to lick it away.  Surrounding him to stroke down his back.  Down each arm, over the curve of his biceps; kneading down the forearm to dry each finger before claiming one with his mouth; sucking slowly before turning his wrist to press a kiss where his pulse throbs.  Luke is not merely a bystander to this action.  Whilst he could still function he had unbuttoned Craig's shirt (he'd even managed to deal with the sleeves) and tugged him out of it somehow.  He touches what skin he can when he can and remembers to kiss back when Craig returns to his lips, which he seems to do just as Luke begins to think he has forgotten about them.  As sensations flow through him, it seems to Luke it is enough for him to be able to remember to breathe.  A bentwood chair sits in the corner of the room: Luke put his clean clothes there before he got in the bath.  Craig puts Luke there now and kneels to the task of drying: ankles and toes, then calves, kissing Luke's knees as he dries the spaces behind them.  The towel at Luke's waist slips, in the way that towels do, and Luke comes undone with it. 

 

It is so completely different, the real thing from the fantasy, Luke discovers.  No amount of imagining could have prepared him for the moment when Craig first takes him in his mouth.

 

He comes quickly, embarrassingly quickly, his eyes fluttering shut.

 

But it wasn't earth shattering, because it never is the first time.

 

He recovers his senses to find he has one hand buried in Craig's hair.  “Sorry.” He loosens his grip on the edge of the seat.  “Sorry, I didn't mean...”

 

Craig is smiling at him with warm brown eyes, one hand still possessively holding his hip, the other (which had rested on Luke's thigh) he now raises to stroke his still damp cheek.  There are things he could say if it were any other man beneath him but Luke: 'You're delicious.' - 'If that's what it's like when you don't mean it ...' and things he would do.  He treads carefully.  “I wanted to,” Craig reassures him, “believe me.” Dabbing a kiss on Luke's belly he makes to wind him back into his towel.

 

“Could you, could you not, touch me, right now,” Luke hisses, “just for a minute.” He grabs at Craig's hand as he rises from the floor, scared he's offended him.  “Not you - skin,” he explains, “jumpy.” It's the best he can do.  Craig nods understandingly and smiles and, before Luke can think to stop him, kisses him, closed mouthed, lightly on the lips.  Startled, Luke covers his confusion by bending to retrieve his clothes, some of which have joined Craig's shirt on the floor. 

 

“I've never -” Luke starts, and then becomes seemingly engrossed with his underwear.  “Not like that.”

 

“I've shocked you haven't I?” Craig, having swiped his shirt from the pile is busy feeding himself back into it.

 

“Er, no not really.” Luke is unsuccessfully trying to put both his feet down the same trouser leg.  “Well, okay yeah.” He laughs nervously when he realises what he's doing and sorts himself out.  He stands, zipping up his flies as he manages to look at Craig properly for the first time.  “You'll think it's silly.”  Craig cocks an eyebrow at him.  “I, well, I didn't expect you to...” Luke looks at the older man pleadingly.

 

“Swallow,” provides Craig helpfully.

 

“I'm stupid.  I mean I'm 24 not 16, you'd think I'd have realised.” He knows he's gabbling but he can't stop.  “Because I've imagined-” The jumper Luke's holding is only going to be fit for the ragbag if he doesn't stop fidgeting with it.  “Never had to get that far.”  A comment which doesn't escape Craig's attention - Luke's fantasised about this.  Luke's _come_ fantasising about this.

 

Craig's hands close softly over both Luke's, taking the jumper he pulls the neck over Luke's head and finally tugs the hem straight at the bottom.  “It's not stupid.”

 

“No?”

 

“No.”

 

Seeing Craig lean forwards Luke turns his face away from the kiss he knows is coming, he really doesn't think he can handle tasting himself on Craig.  Instead the kiss lands somewhere near his ear. 

 

“Luke?”

 

“Yes?” He kisses Craig's cheek awkwardly.

 

“I like when you're all clean and shiny.” 

 

Craig is rewarded by an uncertain smile. 

 

“You know what's really nice to go with that?” Turning away Craig busies himself at the sink, turning back a moment later with an almost theatrical flourish. 

In each hand he is holding a fully loaded toothbrush. 

 

...

 

Later that night in bed, they are each for different reasons finding it hard to settle.  Unlike many recent nights, when they have fallen asleep with Craig spooned against Luke's back, they are both flat on their backs wide awake.  Unaware, each has one hand flung behind his head, the other resting across his chest: they both have their ankles crossed.

 

“Were you very disappointed?” Craig asks finally breaking the silence, staring up into the gloom.

 

“About what?” So what if he hadn't seen stars or fireworks, maybe he'll never see them, maybe that was as good as it will ever be for him.

 

“Don't give me that,” snorts Craig, “I'm talking about earlier on in the bathroom.”

 

“It-” Luke corrects himself rapidly.  “ _You_ were great.” He manages quite enthusiastically. 

 

Craig props himself up on one elbow and peers at Luke through the darkness.  “Kind of you to say so,” he says drily.

 

Luke's really not sure what Craig wants to hear.  “It was nice.”

 

“Nice,” echoes Craig.  He knew it!  He should have waited longer.  He could have managed longer, if he'd had to.  He'd so wanted the first time he and Luke had sex to be something special for the boy.  Instead he'd let his lust get the better of him, simply because Luke had finally let him - _wanted him to -_ make the first move.  After all his talk...

 

“You were great,” Luke says again.

 

“But...?”

 

“But what?” Luke says evasively, shifting a little uneasily - increasing the gap between them.

 

“You know -” Craig reaches across and smoothes his thumb over Luke's bottom lip.  “You chew your lip when you're nervous, if you're not careful there'll be a hole in it tomorrow.”

 

“You should be in CID.  What else do you know?”

 

“It'll never happen: I like my uniform thank you.  You've been quiet all evening.  Did I do something to offend you?  Other than wanting to kiss you after?  Come on, out with it.  Then maybe we can both get some sleep.”

 

“So I don't suppose you'll be going into CSU either.”  Luke smirks in the darkness.

 

“Don't try and change the subject.”

 

Luke wriggles back towards him, reaching out in his turn and places his hand very deliberately on Craig's hip.  “Do you think I'm selfish?  Earlier I just let you: I didn't even try to...” The other hand snakes beneath Craig, sliding down inside his boxers, to stroke the firm cheek. 

 

“Is that what you've been worrying about?” Craig's desperately hoping Luke isn't trying to start something he won't be able finish.

 

“Mostly yeah.” Luke lifts one leg carefully over both Craig's.

 

“Luke... that's actually really -” Craig breaks off on a groan, as the inexpert hand moves down from his hip.

 

“You're not going to stop me are you?” Luke's hand pauses for a brief second on its journey of exploration.

 

“Not.  No.”

 

“Good.” Luke's mouth moves softly across Craig's lips.  The hand down the front of his boxers withdraws, and Craig is disappointed until Luke shoves at his shoulder, pushing him back down into the mattress, the other hand still cupping his behind as Luke rolls on top of him.  Straddled across his thighs Luke's hands are free to wander over Craig's body.  It isn't long before one hand finds its way back to where Craig's cock is weeping already.  For Luke it's an almost familiar sensation to be holding another man, the same yet curiously different, thicker, fuller somehow, and he's never been so aware when touching himself of exactly how it is skin feels.  Craig makes encouraging noises beneath him when he swipes his thumb over the head, but it's awkward.  Both hands in the waist of Craig's boxers Luke stops.  Leaning in, he pushes them down, biting at the hollow of Craig's neck as the man beneath him arches his hips from the bed to accommodate the manoeuvre.  Then Craig takes over, hitching the material down his legs, and some complicated movement follows which Luke is not involved in.  Warm hands grip Luke's waist and hold him still - he can feel Craig looking at him through the darkness.

 

“Roll over?” Luke says hoarsely.

 

A hand strokes down his face before Craig lifts himself on his elbows and rolls - far too slowly for Luke who is mouthing at Craig's shoulder even as he scrambles to settle behind him and reclaim his prize.

 

Luke can't help but grind against Craig's back a short time later when a large fist closes loosely over his own more slender fingers, subtly modifying his action, scant seconds before Craig is throbbing in his palm.

 

...

 

“I thought you'd be more, I dunno, _fastidious_ somehow,” explains Luke afterwards, laughing, only half embarrassed, as they each scrub at the damp patches.  Craig is using his underwear and Luke, for whom this is not an option, is using several tissues grabbed from a box, strategically placed (he now realises) on the bedside cabinet. 

 

“Sex is a messy business, there's no getting away from it.”  Craig sticks out a hand, “Give me those things of yours, I'll throw them in the hamper.”  He stops on his way through the door.  “And Luke, make sure those tissues go down the toilet, not in the bin, won't you?”

 

...

 

It is the first night they go to bed together both totally naked.

 

“About messy sex,” begins Luke just as Craig's drifting off to sleep.

 

“What about it?” Craig yawns, gathering Luke's body closer to him.

 

But it's not really about messy sex at all.  Something about Craig's comment, following the earlier episode in the bathroom (which had already started him thinking) is bothering Luke. 

 

“You do **do** safe stuff don't you?” he blurts out.

 

...

 

So they come to the final 'first' of the evening, their first discussion on the AIDS topic: Craig reassuring Luke that, as he had become sexually active just when the first AIDS campaigns were hitting the headlines, he is probably more likely than most to practice safe sex.  But he won't let it rule his life.  In those early days it had sometimes seemed to him that there were only two sorts of men; those who resolutely stuck their heads in the sand and carried on regardless, saying it could never happen to them; and those who became so paranoid about 'safe sex' that it seemed in the end they derived no pleasure from having any sex at all.  He's spent years trying hard not to fall into either category. 

 

It turns out that Luke knows quite a lot about HIV and AIDS too.  It's just that having worked in Africa his knowledge is somewhat different from Craig's.  At the beginning of each of his six month stints there had always been one patriarchal medic who had reminded volunteers to stay away from the local 'girls'.  Not only were they more likely to have any one of a number of sexually transmitted diseases (as local men would not use condoms, even if available), due to the resultant sores and blisters they were more likely than their counterparts in the west to have contracted HIV.  Apart from that, all aid workers were well aware of the possibility of infection when working alongside sick and injured villagers.  Because in the Sudan, as in most of the African continent, the spread of the disease has been exacerbated by different governments refusing to acknowledge there is a problem.  All the while agencies such as Medecins Sans Frontiers, for whom he had volunteered, are stretched to the limit providing emergency aid to countries ripped apart by years of civil unrest and can do little to re-educate an entire continent of people.  So injured and already sick people crammed in unsanitary conditions into refugee camps continue to spread the disease amongst themselves and from there it spirals out into the wider community, all from ignorance. 

 

 

 

Unlike the unfortunate Matt Boyden, who had been responsible for handing him the weapon, neither Craig nor Luke were involved directly with the catastrophe that was Superintendent Chandler's suicide.  It might nevertheless have had more impact on both men if it hadn't been for an off license robbery which occurred at roughly the same time. 

** Chapter 5 **

Craig looks up sharply as Luke – obviously struggling to keep control of himself - hustles someone roughly through the doors of the custody suite: Kerry is tagging along behind, distancing herself from the encounter.

 

Luke shoves the man he has hold of towards the desk, releasing him abruptly enough to cause him to stumble a little, and stands glowering.  

 

“Carl Jones, Sarge, possible connection with a robbery in Smith Street,” he reports. 

 

The sergeant switches his gaze from Luke - who is so tense Craig can almost see him vibrating – to the prisoner, assessing him in one, swift, professional, glance: five foot ten; medium build; mid- twenties; short, dark hair; clean shaven; brown eyes.  

 

“Problems?”

 

Why did it have to be Craig?  Luke unclenches his jaws.  “No Sarge.”

 

Kerry, still hovering in the background, shakes her head when Craig looks to her for verification.  “Not really Sarge, bit lippy that's all.” She catches Craig's eye and flashes a concerned look at Luke.

 

“Details then.” He'll try and have a word with Luke later.  “Full name?”

 

“Carl Jones.”

 

Craig frowns as he busily starts punching keys: he's sure he recognises the name, if not the face, but he can't quite place it – maybe he's come across it in one of the innumerable reports scattered across his desk?

 

“Date of Birth?”

 

“Twenty-nine, five, seventy-eight.”

 

Which makes him almost exactly the same age as Luke.  It's an almost random thought, but it filters through into Craig's consciousness and provides him with the answer to why the name had seemed so familiar.  He looks back up from the computer screen, immediately taking in the fact that Luke is desperately not looking at him or the prisoner before transferring his attention to Carl Jones: spiky hair; face, not bad but spoiled by a too sullen mouth, and so full of himself!  He's the sort of gay Craig avoids like the plague: one of the ones who'd be found cruising and using in the cheapest bars and clubs.  And Carl's good - he's seen Craig looking and knows it for the evaluation it is.  He meets Craig's gaze and returns it - plastering such a smug smile on his smarmy face that it makes Craig's skin crawl.  But Carl's stupid, after he empties his pockets - digging his fist obscenely down towards his crotch in the process - he contrives to touch Craig's hand when he dumps their contents onto the counter.  The only effect this has on the self-contained sergeant is the urgent desire to place his fist through the offender's lecherous grin.  Always professional however, Craig turns unblinking eyes on the prisoner, and contents himself with placing Carl in the cell with the backed-up toilet.

 

**...**

 

Released from custody duty later in the day Craig manages to run Luke to ground in the fitness room where he is abusing an exercise bike.  He has good news for the young constable, even though the shopkeeper had been unable to positively identify Carl as a member of the gang that had robbed him, the car he had crashed had been taken without its owner's permission.  The outraged fireman (Carl's now ex-boyfriend) had confirmed, on the phone, that he wanted to press charges.

 

“...and you can tell him from me that his stuff will be on the doorstep _if_ he cares to collect it.” Robert Sharpe's irate Irish voice had echoed down the line.  “He's gone too far this time.”

 

Craig stands for a moment, hands thrust deep into his pockets, and watches Luke ignoring him.  Behind Craig a couple of PCs are working together at a large punch bag suspended from the ceiling before their shift starts.  Sweat is dripping down Luke's ruddy face - he's obviously been here quite some time.  Craig places himself in front of the machine. 

 

“They're charging your Mr Jones.  I thought you'd like to know.  His partner hadn't given him permission to drive his car.”

 

Luke doesn't bother to look up.  “He's not my Mister Jones,” he says in a deadly quiet voice.

 

On the far side of the room Eddy Brooks and Matt Keen are picking up their stuff and preparing to leave.

 

Craig relaxes slightly when he hears the door click closed behind them; Luke on the other hand not only doesn't relax but seems to hunch himself even further over the machine, his legs pumping the pedals furiously.

 

Craig clears his throat, finally managing to make Luke look up. 

 

“Kerry came to see me,” he begins.

 

Still pedalling furiously, Luke stares at him, blankly.

 

“Said you've had a hard day.”  Shaking his hands free from his pockets Craig places them on the handles of the bike only to have Luke jerk his hands away, instantaneously.  “She's worried about you.”

 

Well Luke can see why she might be.  Busy with the occupant of the car Carl had crashed into she'd missed Carl's surreptitious hand on his lapel and his snide, “Enjoy playing dress-up do you Luke?  _Nice_.”  that had made Luke's flesh creep.  She'd also missed Carl's hand on his chest and his heavily loaded, “You ought to come out and play with the big boys.”  But he knows she'd been close enough to catch the tail end of that remark.  “You little _twink._ ”  And to see his own reaction to it.  So he'd been a bit rough with the guy, what of it?  Carl could take it; he'd certainly given enough of it in his time.  Luke's not even sure that he knows what a twink is, but Carl had made it sound like something he was positive he never _ever_ wanted to be.  Everything would have been okay if only it hadn't been Craig on duty in custody.  He had just begun to calm down by the time they'd got back to the station.  For Craig to see him in that state had been bad enough.  Then to see Carl making that crude play for his sergeant, it had made his blood boil.  He wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, that a bloke would even attempt something like that to try and get himself out of trouble.  As if someone like Craig would be interested in slime like him. 

 

“Yeah?” sneers Luke, pausing to wipe his face with his already damp towel.  “She shouldn't be!” His eyes dart to the door.

 

“Should Ibe?” Craig's soft brown eyes survey the hostile young man.

 

“What!” Luke keeps glancing at the door. 

 

“Should _I_ be worried about you Luke?  You're obviously upset.” Concern etches Craig's features.  “She told me Carl made some comment or other...” He pauses, hoping Luke will feel able to fill in the gaps himself, even though, not so very deep down, he knows he'll be disappointed.

 

Luke is off the machine, sawing at the seat with his towel.  “Leave me alone,” he mutters.

 

“Something about-”

 

Luke catches against Craig as he barges past - forcing him to take a step back - glaring at him the same way he had in those weeks, long before they'd kissed, when he had rebelled against what he'd seen as Craig bullying him.  Perhaps it's that look that moves Craig from concern to indignation.  “Something about, well, _she_ thought he said 'twinkle'.” 

 

Luke throws himself onto his back beneath the weights, desperately concentrating on positioning himself correctly.  Craig moves to the head of the bench, taking some of the strain as Luke lifts the barbell from its cradle, and stays, staring down at him. 

 

“What did he call you Luke, hmm?  _Twinkie_ was it?”

 

Luke flinches beneath him and tightens his grip on the bar as his arms straighten for the third time. 

 

“And that was enough to get you all upset was it?” Craig sounds more Welsh than Luke's ever heard him, and he knows that that has got to be a danger sign.  The big man squats down beside Luke's prone body, his thigh just close enough for Luke's flexing elbow to graze.  “Cat got your tongue Luke?” Craig's hand rests beside Luke's shoulder on the bench. “Only someone as jaded as Carl could make that sound derogatory.  You'll be called worse; a lot worse, believe you me, sometimes by fellow officers.”

 

Someone's bound to come in, to see them together, see them and realise.  Luke panics, heaving the weights back into place. 

 

“D'you think that's all this is?  Carl Jones calls me names and I can't handle it!  I'm not six Craig; I'm a big boy now!”

 

“Start acting like it then!” Craig orders, rising to his full height.  “If you can't talk to me, talk to Tony, do whatever you've got to do.  Go home if you must.  Just get yourself sorted before your shift starts tomorrow.”

 

**...**

 

Luke gives the taxi driver the address and watches orange street lights slide past until it hurts.  Then he props one elbow on his knee and worries at a shard of hangnail on his thumb.

 

The pub had been a huge mistake. 

 

He had left the fitness room and stormed from the station totally oblivious of everything going on around him: Gary and Kerry kissing on the ramp; Tony shouting after him; Simon Kitson standing on the corner.  He'd just needed to put as much distance between himself and the dreadful day he'd had as quickly as possible.  So when he'd seen a bus pulling up in front of him he'd run to catch it.  The ghastly smell of London Transport is still with him, even now in the Forest Pine scented sterility of the hackney cab he is travelling in, stale cigarette smoke (even though smoking on buses was banned years ago) mingled with the stench of damp dog.  He hadn't cared where it was going and had been surprised to find its route had taken him close to his mum's.  He'd been hungry when he'd got off the bus.  Perhaps he should have gone into one of the cosy looking café's he'd passed, but he really hadn't wanted cosy at the time and he hadn't needed his mother either.  There was nothing cosy or comforting about the pub he had ended up in.  Especially not the 'traditional pub grub', which had lain congealing on his plate.  In the end he'd only managed to force down a few chips whilst downing several pints of mild in an effort to slake a thirst he didn't know he'd felt. 

 

Luke had left the pub feeling better.  He'd reached his decision: he was going to go home.

 

He was outside in the cold night air searching for a cab when he realised he really should have eaten more. 

 

And drunk enough not to care by the time he found one.

 

The journey is just long enough for Luke to start stewing.  Perhaps, if he can get in quietly, he can sleep on the sofa and avoid the inevitable row.  Unless Craig has stayed up for him, waiting to catch him, ready to bawl him out.  Worst copper ever.  That's what Craig thinks he is.  Unprofessional, undisciplined, utterly childish.

 

Arriving outside number seventeen Luke scrunches down on the seat and looks nervously at the house.  It is in total darkness.  Craig has obviously gone to bed.  The taxi driver is looking at him expectantly,

 

“That's twelve pounds fifty please mate.”

 

Luke puzzles over his wallet and fumbles out a couple of notes.  “Keep the change,” he says, but makes no move to get out. 

 

The taxi driver grins knowingly at him.  “Had a row, did we?”

 

“Sorry?”

 

The man nods his head at the house.  “You and 'er indoors, had a row did ya?”

 

“Something like that.” Luke steels himself to leave the vehicle.

 

“Crawling back with your tail between your legs eh?”

 

Luke doesn't bother to answer as he stumbles onto the pavement.

 

“It don't matter, whatever happened, tell her you're sorry!  They like that.” The man's voice floats after him. 

 

It sounds like good advice.  “Tell him I'm sorry,” Luke mutters reassuringly to himself as he makes his way slowly down the path.  “Tell him I'm sorry.” The security light clicks on, its dazzling white light blinding him, and for one wild moment Luke believes Craig has, after all, been sitting in the dark waiting up.  He pauses, expecting the door to crash open in front of him, and gets as far as checking over his shoulder to see if the taxi is still there, wondering if he can get back into it safely and make his escape.  He heaves a sigh of relief as he realises his mistake and gropes in his pocket for his keys.  Propped against the door he searches for the right one.  “Tell, Him, I'm, Sorry” he chants as he picks his way round the ring one key at a time.  “Tell...him...” He smiles triumphantly at the small, shiny treasure in his fist before feeding it into the lock.  He turns the handle quietly and pushes the door open slowly--

 

And is brought up short by the chain.

 

“Shit!” Luke's hand slams into the door.  Inside the house, the chain grates and slips against the frame as he turns his shoulder to the task.  His mantra of moments ago forgotten, replaced by a stream of four letter words hissed to the rhythm of his pounding.  Lights appear in the house, and in a short while the huge shadow of Craig appears behind the frosted glass of the door.  Luke does not notice and, in any case, he's too far gone to care.  The door slams back against Luke's shoulder - the impact shudders through him - he grits his teeth and leans hard, tumbling through the door as it gives way, only for Craig's strong arms to catch him before he can end up sprawled over the hallway floor.

 

“Bastard!” Luke flails against Craig, effectively knocking the last remnants of sleep from his bleary eyes.  “What did you have to go and do that for?!”

 

Gripped firmly Luke finds himself propelled, none too gently, to the bottom of the stairs where he clings on to the newel post and waits while the door is locked and chained shut behind him once more. 

 

Standing over him wearing only a bathrobe - his hair rumpled from lying on the pillow, his face crumpled with sleep, arms folded firmly across his chest, Craig is still every inch a Metropolitan Police Sergeant. 

 

“What time do you call this?” he barks.

 

Inwardly seething - he's not a child after all - and more intimidated than he would care to admit Luke stays silent.

 

“Well Luke?”

 

Luke shrugs his shoulders defiantly and winces.

 

“ **What did you think you were doing?”**

“I thought,” Luke snarls, backing up onto the first stair.  “That I was coming home!  Got that wrong didn't I!” he accuses.  He turns a little too fast and clutches at the banister to save himself from falling. 

 

Craig's steadying hand is instantly beneath his elbow.  “Just how drunk are you Luke?”

 

Luke looks at him over his shoulder - being eye level with the bigger man makes him feel braver.  Stronger.  “Drunk enough.” Luke's fingers work to prise Craig's hand loose.

 

“Enough for what?” Craig's found the nerve and Luke's hand spasms involuntarily.

 

“Enough to know I'm not wanted here.”

 

Craig releases him.  “Is that what you think?”

 

“You locked me out!  Put, put the chain on.”

 

“I do that every night.”

 

“Locked me out,” insists Luke, “you don't want me here.”

 

“Don't be ridiculous!”

 

“I won't stay; I know when I'm not wanted!” Luke's stoking himself up.

 

“Christ Luke, you weren't here... I thought you'd gone to your mother's.”

 

“I'll pack a bag and go now.” Luke reels up the next two steps.  Craig can't hurt him, not now he's bigger than him.

 

“Luke, are you listening to me?” Craig is just behind him on the stair.

 

“Piss off.” Two more steps.  He'd go faster if everything would just stay still. 

 

“You're not fit to go anywhere.” Craig's hand is at his waist now, helping him. 

 

Craig, who should be shouting now, like Luke's father would have been.  Screeching almost incoherently at his not-nearly-as-drunk-as-he-made-out teenage son.  Blaming him for everything that was wrong with his own life, telling Luke over and over that he should never have been born.  That he was a stupid, worthless, _pathetic_ excuse for a human being.  So why isn't Craig shouting?  Hasn't he realised that Luke will ruin his life too?  Like he had ruined his mother's - just by being there.

 

“Don't touch me.”

 

“Don't be bloody stupid!” Finally, Craig snaps at him.  “Let me help you.”

 

They've reached the bedroom doorway.  “I don't need _your_ help!” When Luke tries to look at Craig's face it seems curiously far away.  He can't feel his feet.  “Don't need...” Can't feel his hands as he lifts them to push Craig off.  “Not anyone's...” And then he can't feel anything at all. 

 

Craig tightens his grip as Luke loses consciousness, supporting his dead weight the short distance to the bed: strips Luke of his jacket and shoes, peels off his trousers, rolls him onto his side in the almost warm space he had so recently vacated and covers him with the duvet before climbing into the cold half himself.

 

**...**

 

Luke wakes next morning to Craig thrusting his mobile phone at him.

 

“I don't want to see you at work,” he says shortly, “you're not fit for duty.  Phone in sick **now**.” When Luke doesn't move he drops the phone onto the bed where it sits accusingly on the duvet.  He clatters a tray, bearing a jug of clear liquid and a beaker, down onto the bedside cabinet along with a small heap of pills.

 

“Painkillers and high dose vitamin C; I want you to take all of them.” Craig pours from the jug noisily and waits while Luke struggles upright - closing his eyes as the room lurches dangerously - dislodging the phone which thuds onto the floor.  Luke takes the glass tenderly and takes a tentative sip: the liquid is sweet and vaguely fizzy; he stops drinking, and looks at Craig.

 

“Lemonade,” says Craig, “it'll help, trust me.  Sip it slowly; I don't want to have to clean up after you before I leave for work.” He hands the first two pills to Luke, “Swallow!”  Luke gags a little over taking them, then they repeat the process.  Craig sighs as he bends to retrieve the phone, and then dials Sun Hill.  Once the number for the station's ringing he hands the phone to Luke and stands over him until he's finished the call before disappearing down the stairs.  Luke listens nervously for the sound of the front door slamming to announce Craig's departure, wondering what on earth he can say to make this better.  But where should he start when he can't remember what he's done?  Shortly, the sound of a firm tread on the stairs heralds Craig's arrival, he's carrying a large bowl and a damp facecloth.  Hanging the cloth over the edge of the bowl he places it on the floor beside the bed.  Luke can barely look at him.

 

“Just in case,” he says brusquely, kissing Luke's cheek briefly, a lot more gently than his tone suggests, and leaves.

 

The latch clicks quietly closed downstairs.

 

Upstairs Luke buries his head under Craig's pillow, trying to block out the deafening silence.

 

**...**

 

Craig is staring at the phone on his desk, willing it to ring, when Gina Gold pokes her head into his office.

 

“Where's Ashton?  I want a word with him!”

 

Craig stops chewing his nails.  “Him?” 

 

“Sergeant Gilmore!  Where is three six two?”

 

I made him call in - he looked like hell and was possibly still drunk.  “I believe he phoned in sick this morning ma'am,” he says aloud.

 

“Right.” Gina Gold turns on her heel then stops.  “What do you know about this incident yesterday?”

 

Yesterday - Luke met someone who abused and assaulted him on a regular basis when he was a kid and his _sergeant_ expected himto behave like a perfect police zombie.  “Yesterday?”

 

“Is there a parrot in this room Sergeant!?”

 

Then I backed him into a corner, frightened him into fits, of course he lashed out.  I should have expected it.  He thinks everyone can see.   “Parrot?”

 

“Give me strength!  _Craig_ when you are fully awake I want to see you in my office.”

 

Awake?  After a night like that?  I didn't dare take my eyes off him.  “Right away ma'am.”

 

**...**

 

Luke picks up the phone umpteen times during that day but never gets further than dialling the first three digits.

 

**...**

 

“I have this complaint on my desk.” Gina's already half way down a fresh cigarette by the time Craig walks through her door.  “Apparently Luke made homophobic remarks to someone he arrested yesterday.”

 

Craig's hackles rise.  “Let me guess.  Carl Jones?”

 

“That's right.”

 

Craig sighs.  “He was brought in after a robbery, the car he was driving -”

 

“Yes, yes, skip all that!” Inspector Gold interrupts, a ribbon of smoke drifting upwards from the cigarette cradled in her hand.  “Did Luke make these comments?”

 

“What comments would they be?”

 

She peers down through the fug as she taps the sheet of paper in front of her.  “Let's see - 'shirt lifter, fruit, and queer' - that's just for starters.”

 

Craig raises one eyebrow.  “What's he supposed to have done?  Reeled off a whole list?”

 

She squints at the page again.  “Apparently.”

 

“How would he have known the suspect is gay?”

 

“Not obviously limp-wristed then this Mr Jones?”

 

“Very definitely not.  And, he got quite aggressive after he was brought into custody.”

 

“Aggressive?  How?”

 

Craig removes an invisible speck of dirt from his jumper before answering, “He... I suppose you could say he came on to me.”

 

The Inspector splutters on the other side of the desk.  “Kerry didn't mention that!” 

 

Devious cow, of course she'd already have spoken to Kerry.  “ _She_ wouldn't have noticed the way he-”

 

Gina holds up her hand.  “No, don't tell me, I'll take your word for it.” She drags on the remains of her cigarette thoughtfully.  “He's an attractive lad, young Ashton-” Craig's not going to react to that - _not._  Does she expect him to?  After that rollicking she'd given him about watching Luke's behind instead of his own?  She's still speaking, “Do you think Jones tried it on with him as well?”

 

Craig rubs his chin.  “You'd need to talk to Kerry about that ma'am, but I wouldn't have thought so.  He only tried it on with me because he realised-”

 

“That you were gay,” she finishes for him.  “Although how...” she mutters before she can stop herself - Craig's looking at her, startled - doesn't he know how straight he comes across?  She clears her throat before she speaks again, “You'd have thought she'd have mentioned it if he had.”

 

“You'd think so ma'am, yes.”

 

“But when they brought him into custody there was nothing wrong as far as you could tell?”

 

“Jones wasn't complaining when they brought him in.  It sounds like a fairy story to me.”  The first twitch of a smile appears on her face.  “No pun intended.”

 

“None taken,” she says dryly.  ” _You've_ nothad any problems with Luke recently have you?”

 

“No.”

 

“Of course you haven't.  Now if it had been Taviner...”

 

Oh god, how will Luke face coming out to men like Des? 

 

**...**

 

There are fresh sheets on the bed in 17 Formosa Gardens.

The laundry has been done: whites **and** coloureds, separately.

The entire house has been vacuumed: under the beds, behind the sofas.

There is not a scrap of dust or dirt anywhere.

The crockery is stacked in the correct cupboards.

The cutlery is all facing the right way in the drawer.

The dinner's in the oven.

The table's laid.

The coffee's on.

 

Sitting on the bottom stair, watching the front door, Luke hopes it's enough. 

 

Even though it is what Luke has been waiting for, the red blur of Craig's Escort finally pulling up outside startles him into the kitchen. 

 

Craig steps into the house and is greeted by the unmistakable aromas of spring cleaning and cooking.

 

Luke is busy being busy in the kitchen.  He peers out through the door, watching Craig nervously while he hangs up his coat. 

 

“Hiya.”

 

Walking heavily up the hall Craig ignores him.  He pokes his nose into the unnaturally clean sitting room before going to join Luke in the glossy-magazine-clean kitchen.

 

“Does the whole house look like this?”

 

“I found that pen you lost.” Luke puts the last strawberry into a dish and wipes his hands on the seat of his trousers.  “I put it by the phone did you see?  Dinner won't be long, it's just a Marks and Sparks' thing I found in the freezer, I hope you don't mind, I know it's one you like.” He opens a cupboard.  “Why don't you sit down and I'll pour you a coffee?”

 

Luke only stops moving when Craig places himself in the way of the coffee machine.  “You haven't said, 'Did you have a good day at work _dear?_ '”He says acidly, taking the cups from Luke's hands and placing them on the side.

 

Luke doesn't know where to look.

 

“So this is your apology is it?” Craig continues.

 

“I,”

 

“Because normally Luke.” Gilmore's in charge and he's ever so slightly pissed off.  “ _Normally_ that involves actually saying the words 'I'm sorry'.”

 

Luke glares up at him through straight dark lashes, the colour draining from his face.  “It wasn't my -” he baulks at the word 'fault' when he sees the expression on Craig's face.  “I didn't mean -” Excuses won't do.  “I'm sorry,” he manages finally.

 

“And is that it?”

 

“Isn't it enough?”

 

“Something a bit more specific might be nice.”

 

Which would, of course, be easier if Luke could actually remember what he'd done.  “I got drunk,” he says defensively, “People get drunk all the time.” Well it's true and they both know it.

 

“People who get drunk and lash out at the people they're seeing are liable to get arrested.”

 

“I hit you?” Appalled with himself for not being able to remember, Luke back pedals out of the range of Craig's fists.  He's not going to stand still and take it.  Not if he doesn't have to.

 

“You tried.”

 

“I'm sorry!” Caught in the angle of the cupboards there's nowhere for Luke to go when Craig takes a step towards him.  “It was an accident!”

 

“I know I wasn't _accidentally_ in front of your fists Luke,” Craig grinds out, “or did the alcohol just happen to fall down your throat?”

 

The cooker timer bleeps loudly.

 

“I need to see to that.” Luke says anxiously.

 

“Well?” Craig's not going to move.

 

“Craig, please?”  If the dinner's ruined Luke knows it will only make things worse - he takes a deep breath.  “I didn't mean...” That won't be enough.  “Yesterday -” He'll have to admit it.  “I _was_ upset!  You were right.”

 

**...**

 

The dinner isn't ruined but Luke can't eat at all and Craig only manages a few mouthfuls before pushing his plate away. 

 

The strawberries sit forgotten on the counter.

 

“I don't think I can be with anyone that drinks Luke,” Craig starts as calmly as he can, “we both know where it leads, we see too much of it in our line of work.”

 

“I don't drink: not like _that_.”

 

“You did last night.”

 

“I didn't mean to.”

 

Craig is up out of his seat. 

 

Luke's hand reaches out but doesn't touch him,

 

“Just give me a minute.  Please?” Luke takes a steadying breath and starts talking.  “Yesterday when I arrested Carl Jones I let him get to me and I shouldn't.  I got mad and,” he looks earnestly up into Craig's eyes, “I didn't like that you'd seen me like that.”

 

Craig bites his cheek and manages to remain silent.  That Luke has a temper is hardly a revelation after all: he'd been on the receiving end often enough during Luke's first few weeks back at Sun Hill.

 

“I could see.  See you both knew.  About each other.  That you'd have known even if you hadn't recognised his name.  The way you both looked at each other!  It made me – I'm not sure what it made me.  But I didn't want to see it.”

 

Craig's little finger brushes the side of Luke's hand as he sits back down.

 

“You came to the gym.  I knew you wouldn't touch me while Eddy and Matt were there.  You called him my Mr Jones,” Luke says bitterly.

 

That was a mistake.  “I'm sorry.”

 

“I was upset.  You could see it.  Nobody's ever seen it before.”

 

It hurts Craig to think that no-one has cared enough to notice.

 

“Then they left.  And I knew it wasn't safe any more.  You'd have touched me and that would have been it.” Luke's hands ball themselves into fists on top of the table.

 

Craig traces the path of a non-existent tear down Luke's cheek.  “Everybody's got to cry some time.”

 

Luke turns his head away abruptly.  “Who said anything about crying?”

 

“You were upset.”

 

“I would have exploded!” Luke says fiercely.

 

Craig covers the hand closest to him, stroking over the fingers with his thumb until they begin to unfurl.

 

“It's bad enough you think I'm some sort of overgrown child without me throwing a tantrum like one.” Luke turns his wrist till he is holding Craig's hand.

 

“I don't!”

 

“No?”

 

“No,” chides Craig.  “And getting drunk hardly proves how grown up you are.”

 

“I'm not sure how I ended up in a pub.  But I didn't go in there to get bladdered you've got to believe me.” Luke's anxious fingers grip Craig's like a vice, it takes a conscious effort from him to relax them again.  “I don't know why I'd ever want to take a swing at you.  I was cross with myself not you.”  He finishes quietly.

 

“When you got here the chain was on.” Craig squeezes Luke's fingers gently. “You thought I'd locked you out.  I wouldn't have chained it if I'd known.”

 

“Known what?”

 

“That -” It's Craig's turn to take a deep breath.  “You think of this place as home.”

 

**...**

 

The strawberries are finally being eaten.

 

“I wanted to smash his face in you know, that Carl Jones.”

 

“Did you?” Luke smears one of the fragrant red fruits with cream before offering it up to Craig's mouth.

 

Craig's tongue darts out. “I put him in cell number four.” He's smiling as he bites down carefully, catching the tip of Luke's finger between his lips before releasing it.

 

** Cooking **

 

The problem that Luke has with taking his turn in the kitchen is not that he actively dislikes cooking but that he's never had to learn how.  He has after all, spent years having all his main meals provided for him, first by his mum, then years of school dinners, staff canteens had followed and even in Africa, it transpires, they ate in mess halls like the army.  So naturally enough (for him) he assumes he'll be no good at it.  For Luke, food is merely fuel, he'll swallow anything: Chinese, Italian, Indian, Mongolian, whatever Craig decides to serve, it's fine with him.  That's not to say he doesn't have favourites, Luke snacks on carrots like there may be a world shortage very soon and will even snaffle them cold straight from a tin when there are no raw ones to be found.  He adores roast chicken, and will succumb to his craving for marmite on toasted soldiers (not toast triangled or quartered, and definitely not just bread) no matter what time of day it strikes - Craig finds it impossibly endearing.  

 

Taking cooking lessons from Craig is really not a hardship for Luke.  Maybe it has something to do with the way Craig genuinely enjoys sharing his culinary expertise, or maybe it's the hands-on approach he uses when demonstrating some new technique.  Maybe it's because of the warm feeling he gets in the pit of his stomach as Craig tastes from his finger - wrapping his lips around the knuckle before dragging his tongue slowly over the tip.  Most likely it's because of the delicious tightness that catches his throat at the feel of Craig's skin on his tongue when it comes his own turn to taste.

 

 

Chapter 6

 

It had seemed simple enough on paper: a chicken and white wine casserole (that contains carrots but no cream and no, absolutely no, garlic) served with rice and broccoli, followed by fresh fruit salad.  The casserole had in fact proved a doddle, he'd even remembered to put the wine back into the fridge to chill so they could drink it with their meal; the broccoli florets are waiting in a pan of cold water; the rice has been weighed, rinsed and left in a bowl ready to go into a pan in half an hour.  He really hadn't expected any problems with the dessert: but first it had been the skin on the kiwi fruit, then all the fiddling about pulling the leafy bits off the strawberries – now he knows why Craig pays extra for ready prepared ones - and now it's the bloody oranges.

“I don't know how to do this,” Luke wails, looking hopelessly from the mushy orange heap on the chopping board in front of him to the door and back again.

 

“Do what?” Craig calls from his place in front of the telly.  The rugby's just started - he's not moving unless he absolutely has to - it's one of the reasons he'd been so pleased when Luke had decided to exercise his newly acquired skills and fix dinner when they'd both got in from work.  It also meant he'd managed to have a shower – there hadn't quite been enough time for him to shave too - and get himself settled down in front of the box with time to spare before the match began.

 

“These oranges!  All I'm doing is making a horrible mess.”

 

“Have you peeled them well?”

 

“Yeah” Luke sounds doubtful.

 

“Did you use a sharp enough knife?”

 

“I think so...”

 

Craig heaves himself from the floor and wanders through to the kitchen: propping the door open with his foot so he can still listen to the commentary, he crosses his arms as he settles himself against the frame.  “Show me.”

 

“This one.” Luke waggles the knife over the largely unusable remains of two Valencias.

 

It isn't the one Craig would have chosen but it shouldn't have caused that sort of carnage.  Craig looks regretfully back towards the television as he walks into the kitchen.  He selects a slightly smaller, sharper knife from the block.

 

“Try this instead.”  

 

“Thanks.”  Luke plucks a fresh victim from the net bag in front of him, digs his fingers into the skin, and starts tearing.

 

“Luke?”

 

“What?”

 

“Why don't you throw that mess away first? – Then use the knife to take the peel off.”

 

Luke lays the orange on the freshly cleared board and frowns, his tongue poking between his lips in concentration, the knife poised in his hand.

 

Craig is beginning to think he might do anything for that tongue.  A more than willing victim to it from the moment Luke had first claimed his mouth, he's pretty certain he became its slave on the occasion of its much more recent conquest of the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh.  Not that it had stopped there.  In a brave new venture for Luke, heralded only by the barest glimpse of teeth at the corner of his mouth and a moistening of his lips, it had swept northwards, one hand trailing in its wake.  Plunging briefly, deep behind his balls before continuing straight up, along the ridge of his cock to the head.  And stopped.  To lap inquiringly as it lay, imprisoned by Luke's palm, against his belly.  Reluctantly he shakes the memory from his head.

 

“Slice each end off and remove the rest of the skin,” he suggests, “then cut down between each segment.” And sighs when Luke just gawps at him. 

 

Craig moves behind him to demonstrate, propping his chin on Luke's shoulder, his shirt sleeved arms resting along Luke's bare ones.  Plucking the knife from Luke's grasp he deftly tops and tails, before placing it back in Luke's hand.  “The idea,” Craig says, his breath warm on the side of Luke's neck, standing the fruit on one flattened end and trapping it in place with Luke's hand beneath his, “is to remove all the pith and peel in one go.”  He grips Luke's other hand firmly, guiding the blade down the curve of the fruit in a gentle sawing motion.  “You work all the way round like this, and then -” He lifts the already dripping fruit, Luke's hand cradled in his, idly rubbing his thumb through the sticky juice oozing between Luke's fingers.  “Actually, this bit's easier if you have a dish...”  And pinning Luke against him with a forearm held lightly across his chest Craig stretches across the table, hooking the bowl of already prepared fruit towards them.  It's hard for Luke not to respond to when Craig's firm body presses against his spine.  It takes all his resolve not to react when Craig's thigh shifts carelessly between his parted legs.  “Slide down against the skin -” Luke's not sure but he thinks Craig might be doing it on purpose.  “On each side of a segment, and it should -” Craig deftly twists the knife away from them, and they both watch as one, glistening, perfectly naked arc of flesh looses itself reluctantly from its sheathing.  “Fall straight into the bowl,” he finishes proudly.

 

“You can manage now can't you?”

 

Luke's a little envious: anything more than one syllable would be impossible for him right now. 

 

“Yes,” he says hoarsely.

 

“Good.” Craig presses his lips to the soft skin just below Luke's ear and seems inclined to stay, until a muffled roar - coming from the living room - draws his attention.  He leaves to investigate, licking at his fingers.  This is a relief, in a way, for Luke as he’s spent some time concocting this evening and Craig seducing him had not been part of the plan.

 

...

 

Even finding out that England are now leading Wales by six points is not enough to dampen Craig's spirits when he walks back into the living room, his tongue still working on the last pockets of stickiness between his fingers.  Thoughtfully he flops down onto the sofa, scrubbing his hands over his denim clad thighs to finish the job.

 

...

 

Craig raises an eyebrow at the plate of food in front of him. 

 

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

 

“Like?” Luke asks nervously.

 

“That I need to lose weight?”

 

“What?  No!  I like your tummy.”

 

Craig frowns.

 

“I mean, I -”  Luke sees the corners of Craig's mouth twitch upwards. “Swine!”

 

“So you **are** calling me a pig then?”

 

Luke grins.  “If the cap fits...”

 

Craig pouts as he picks up his fork.

 

“Eat your chicken before it gets cold!” Luke orders playfully.

 

“Yes boss.”

 

There's a companionable silence in the kitchen until Craig pushes his empty plate away,  “That was great Luke, well done.  Where'd you get the recipe?”

 

“Off the internet.”

 

“You're using that quite a lot now aren't you?”

 

“Yeah.” Luke gathers up their empty plates.  “It's useful for loads of stuff.  You're really going to have to let me start paying for it you know.  After all you only got hooked up so I could use it.”

 

“Not _only_...”

 

“Mostly then.  So I could find out -” Luke pauses, awkwardly juggling two pudding dishes and the larger serving bowl to the table.  “About stuff.”

 

“There are more obvious ways to learn.” Craig says gently.

 

“That I don't quite feel ready for yet.” Luke says with an air of finality, as he ladles a large portion of fruit into Craig's dish.

 

Craig touches Luke's elbow lightly.  “I'm not trying to push you into anything.”

 

“I know.  Really, I do.  You've been very patient about... all sorts of things.” Luke settles himself at the table and picks up his spoon.

 

“Are you sure you haven't got me on a diet?” Craig demands, looking at his dish, just as Luke abruptly gets back up again.  “There was no cream in the sauce on the chicken and now-”

 

“Chocolate sauce!” exclaims Luke, interrupting him. “Sorry, I forgot.”

 

Craig's impressed. 

 

“You've made chocolate sauce?”

 

Luke smiles broadly.  “I _bought_ chocolate sauce.” Finding the curiously shaped bottle where he'd hidden it at the back of a cupboard he pours a generous amount into a separate pudding bowl.  “Very expensive chocolate sauce, I might add.”

 

“It must be if we have to share one bowl between two,” Craig says wryly, watching as Luke places the bowl between them in the middle of the table.

 

“That's actually just because I, um, thought it might be more – enjoyable - to share.” Luke blushes.

 

“Right.” Craig rubs his knee against Luke's thigh under the table. “Could I make a suggestion?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“If you really want to enjoy sharing this, we should probably move somewhere a bit more comfortable.” 

 

...

 

For some reason he's not sure of now, Luke had always assumed that, as in his mother's home, the candles liberally dotted about Craig's living room were entirely for show, not lighting.  He really should have known better, there is very little in this house that isn't there for a reason.  Like the soft, caramel coloured throw, that normally decorates the back of the sofa they are sitting on, which is now spread wide beneath them.

 

“So,” says Craig, twirling a liberally sauce covered grape between his fingers, watching for a moment as the rich, dark, liquid chocolate sinks down through the juices in his dish on the coffee table, before transferring it quickly to Luke's waiting mouth.  “What next?”

 

Luke's eyes shine brightly in the candlelight as he returns the favour with a simple slice of orange, bending his head to Craig's chest, when its juice 'accidentally' drips onto his shirt, to dab at it with his tongue even as his hands move to undo the bottom button.  “I'm not very good at this,” he apologises, looking up, “perhaps we'd better take this off you...”

 

Craig meets his gaze and holds it, offering his wrists to Luke's busy fingers, “Are you trying to seduce me?”

 

“Kind of – is that all right?” Luke nips at the creamy skin of Craig's newly exposed shoulder as he pushes the dark blue fabric down his back, allowing it to pool onto the floor.

 

“Only kind of?” Looking away, Craig takes a moment to select the perfect strawberry and pops it into his mouth: gripping it gently between his teeth he offers it to Luke.  Who bites down, delicately taking half the fruit, swallowing it with a sip of still cool wine from his glass, before plunging his tongue deeply into Craig's mouth.

 

“ _Is_ it all right?” he asks again, a little doubtfully, breaking off.

 

“Yes,” Craig breathes softly, cupping the flushed face before him in both hands before dipping his tongue back into warm red sweetness of Luke's mouth.  “ Anything you want. Everything.  It's all, perfectly all right.”

 

...

 

Sticky skin clings to Luke's naked flesh as he slides down Craig's bare body, chocolate coats his tongue as he swirls lazy circles across Craig's firm, fuzzy belly to where the path of fine hairs lead down, begging for his attention.  He pauses only as long as it takes Craig to tip the dish he is holding (the one in his right hand this time) thickening the route with juice, then ducks his head to follow it.  Leaving the trail to bite gently at the warm soft place by the tendon at the top of Craig's thigh, capturing the exclusive taste of the man sprawled out under him - that sweetly salt laden muskiness he is now so used to finding on his own hands - and needs more.  Pulling away just a little, he fumbles the dishes from Craig's hands as he teases one fruit flavoured nipple with the tip of his tongue.  Craig's soft protestations of disappointment fill his ears when he turns away, to clatter the crockery onto the table, replaced by the sharp hiss of a sharply exhaled breath as Luke's hands slide beneath him, tugging his hips forwards, bringing him closer to the edge.  Kneeling up, Luke returns his attention to Craig's mouth, sucking on his tongue, one hand resting on Craig's leg for balance.  He closes his eyes when he takes the weight of Craig's balls in his palm, his fingertips rubbing onto the sensitive flesh behind.  Luke thinks he could stay like this forever, rubbing and sucking, with Craig's great hands splayed wide across his back, until the body below his shivers quietly against him and he opens his eyes to find Craig staring needily back at him with huge, dark eyes. 

 

Gripping the base of Craig's cock loosely, Luke runs his tongue up along the vein and taking the head in his mouth pushes slowly downward.  Waits for a moment, then sucks softly, catching a faint hint of soap mingled with the pre-come on his tongue.  Twists his hand down as he draws his mouth back, remembers to keep his teeth covered and slides down a little further this time, his tongue flat against the underside of the shaft as his fist moves back up.  It's nowhere near as deep as Craig takes him, but he thinks he's found a rhythm and Craig's sighs above him sound like: “Gorgeous' and 'Yes' and, 'Please'.  He almost stops when Craig's hands disappear from his shoulders - but _knows_ he's got it right when he feels Craig begin to swell and twitch in his hand. 

 

Craig comes, watching Luke knelt beautifully between his thighs - still figuring things out, with his arms stretched wide across the back of the sofa, his nails digging into the cushions as he desperately tries not to thrust too deeply into Luke's mouth, not wanting to take over.  Just wanting.

 

Luke rocks down onto his heels, his mouth pulling away with a final soft suck and a slightly surprised, satisfied smile.  Then he's climbing back up over Craig's long boneless body, looking down on him with a dazed expression on his face.  Lowering himself to straddle Craig's lap, his own erection nudging against Craig's stomach, licking catlike over his chest to the stubble roughened skin of his throat, till Craig drags him the last couple of inches -  seeking his mouth - catching his lips with his tongue.

...

 

Craig licks a smear of chocolate from Luke's collar bone.

 

“That wasn't actually what you had in mind was it?”

 

Luke smiles up at him a little drowsily.  “Your way was better.” He wriggles uncomfortably in Craig's arms.

 

“Craig?”

 

“Hmmm?” Well it was cosy for a while.

 

“We're sticking...”

 

Craig sighs.  “I know.”

 

“What are we going to do about it?”

 

“I was seriously hoping you'd offer to carry me up the stairs to the shower...”

 

“Fat chance.”

 

“In that case...”  Luke isn't quick enough to see the wicked gleam that lights Craig's eyes.  There's an unexpected bunching of muscle beneath him then Craig launches himself upright with Luke, laughing helplessly, hanging over his shoulder.  His first thought, after the initial shock, is that he's really missed out by not knowing Craig at the peak of his rugby playing fitness.  The impetus carries them as far as the bend in the stairs, where Craig misses his footing on the next flight, falling headlong on top of the still giggling Luke. 

 

“OW”

 

Craig scrambles to his feet. “You okay?”

 

Luke rubs the back of his head, grinning. “I'm sure I'll survive.  If I were you, I'd be more worried about the stains on your carpet!”

 

“Careful,” admonishes Craig, hoiking Luke to his feet.  “Your girly side is showing.”

 

...

 

Sticky handprints on the walls add to the list of things that need cleaning several more times before they get to the bathroom.

 

...

 

One day, Craig's promised himself, he'll have a shower tower complete with body jets and a 'soft pulse' setting enclosed in a glassed, walk-in cubicle, but that's in the future.  Until then there's a deluxe electric model installed directly over the bath, providing an instant and, more importantly, never ending supply of warm water.

 

...

 

Luke's feet squeak on the white enamel as Craig turns him this way and that beneath the streaming water, he throws a hand out to steady himself and clutches Craig's hip, squeezing his eyes shut against the suds pouring down his face, pushing his head firmly into the large capable hands massaging his scalp.

 

“Sooo good,” he murmurs.

 

Craig puts his mouth very close to Luke's ear.

 

“You really were, you know.”

 

Luke's soap slicked skin trembles beneath Craig's touch as he comes with his mouth stretched open in total silence and his eyes closed.  Leaving Craig feeling shut out, yet again.  It's something that he’s finding hard to come to terms with.  Much easier to deal with is Luke's need for deep discussion just as they are about to  fall asleep. Craig is actually beginning to wonder how Luke ever manages to get to sleep on his own with all the unanswered questions he has dashing round inside his head. 

 

Tonight's no exception: Luke is lying careful inches away from him in the bed - obviously deep in thought, so Craig relaxes on his back next to Luke, quietly inspecting the back of his eyelids, trying to not to make it seem as though he's waiting - and waits.   Knowing that he just has to give Luke a few minutes to sort out what he needs to say, then he'll roll against him, touch him lightly to make sure he has his attention and, only when he knows he has it, start speaking. 

 

Eventually, one arm drops lightly across Craig's chest.  “ _Am_ I girly?”  Luke asks.

 

Craig isn't entirely sure that he knows what he had expected from Luke tonight, but it certainly wasn't a question like that, not after an evening like the one they've just shared. 

 

“No.”

 

“So what am I?”

 

“Loads of things but not that.” Craig says to fill the gap, while he figures out some descriptives.  “Gorgeous, gutsy, capable-”

 

“In this relationship?” demands Luke  as if Craig should have known exactly what he was talking about to begin with.

 

“I'm not with you.”

 

“You're big and masculine and-”

 

“Oh So Very Gay,” puts in Craig hastily.

 

“Straight acting,” finishes Luke.  “While I, am kind of short and - let's face it - basically twink-like.  So -”

 

“You have a fabulous body.  Absolutely nothing wrong with it.”

 

“So,” persists Luke, frowning, “if you're the 'man'  doesn't that make me kind of 'the girl'?”

 

Oh - OH!- Craig resists the urge to smooth the furrows away with his fingertips

 

“You do know it doesn't work like, that don't you?” he says instead.

 

“Doesn't it?” Luke lifts his head, allowing Craig to slip an arm beneath it, before settling back down again.

 

“No.  Why ever would you think that.”  

“There were these guys...”

“Gay guys?  Where?”

“That break-in on Falken Wharf.”

“And?”

 

“Well the first bloke- “

 

“Does he have a name?”

 

“Why?”

 

“I'm worried this is going to get involved and I thought some names might add clarity, instead of blokes One, Two, and Three.”

 

“There weren't three.”

 

“Humour me?”

 

“Fred then.”

 

“So what did Fred do?”

 

“Nothing he was perfectly nice and...”

 

“And?”

 

“Normal.  He was perfectly nice and normal.  Most people would never have known.”

 

Which leaves Craig wondering just how long it had taken for Luke to realise?

 

“Known?”

 

“That he was gay, _you_ know.  We were chatting about his DVDs and stuff while Tony had a root around upstairs, then his partner came home and he was really ...”

 

“Gay.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And that bothered you?”

 

The bedclothes rustle as Luke shifts uneasily.  “A bit.”

 

“Because he was obviously a 'poof'.”

 

“No, not that.  More him - you know - saying something in front of Tony – about me.”

 

“Outing you, you mean.”

 

“I suppose.  Anyway Rob -”

 

“The partner?”

 

“Yeah.  He offered us tea,”

 

“Which Tony was hardly likely to refuse...”

 

“No,” Luke grins, “He asked us if either of us were married... he wasn't very nice about it.  It was as if he _wanted_ to make me feel uncomfortable.  And Fred kept giving him these funny looks, like he was trying to tell him something.”

 

Poor Luke, it simply hasn't occurred to him that Rob was jealous.  “It was probably, 'I'm sorry!  Please don't 'out' the cute constable I was chatting up a minute ago'.”

 

“Tony said that too.”

 

“Tony noticed Fred's 'looks' ?” Craig yelps.

 

Luke's smile flares in the darkness.  “Said that he was flirting with me.”

 

“Was he?”

 

“I, I don't know.  I didn't think so, I just thought he was being nice.”

 

Craig doesn't want to hear any details.  “Is this conversation getting us anywhere?” he asks flatly, “Because we could both really do with getting some sleep.”

 

“Just - they seemed like a couple.”

 

“They _are_ a couple.”

 

“I mean a married couple, you know, a 'Mr and Mrs'.  Like you and Sean....” Luke's voice trails off - he's realised exactly what it was about Rob that had set his nerves jangling.  “Rob kind of reminded me of Sean.”  There he's said it.  “ _You_ used to say Sean was a 'drama queen'.”

 

“All Sean ever wanted was someone to take care of him.” Craig can't help a trace of bitterness creeping into his voice.  “He was extremely high maintenance.  You're nothing like him.”

 

“But you _do_ look after me.”

 

“It's not the same.  Sean needed to be in the spotlight constantly.  You're doing things, feeling things, which you’ve never done before, never expected might happen, things you _can't_ figure out on your own.” Craig doesn't think he's explaining very well.

 

“I must be very stupid then because I don't understand how this – us – is supposed to work.  I don't know how you're expecting me to act.”

 

“It works however we make it work.  And I don't expect you to 'act' at all, I want you to be you, be who you want to be, do what you want to do, what makes you comfortable.  That applies to everything not just the bedroom.  You can't try and be something you're not just because you think it's something I - or anyone else for that matter - want you to be.  You'll drive yourself insane.”

 

“But isn't that what I'm doing already?” asks Luke in a small voice. “Every day, by letting people go on thinking that I'm straight.”

 

“Not at all,” Craig says, holding Luke close, “you're entitled to your privacy.  People don't automatically have a right to know everything about you all the time, especially if it doesn't affect them.  You're still the same Luke Ashton whatever you are underneath: gay, straight or 'other'.  Don't let anyone _ever_ tell you otherwise.”

 

** Chapter 7 **

It's getting close to the end of his shift and Craig, in a vain attempt to soothe his nerves, has been reduced to pushing paperwork around his desk: it is now less than two hours before he'll have to perform in Cop Idol.  He doesn't want to do it but he can't back out now, not if he doesn't want to lose face.  There is NO way he's singing Tina Turner though.

He's going to marmalise Matt bloody Boyden.

 

There is a polite knock at his door and he looks up to see a chilled looking Luke silhouetted in the doorway.  He has hardly begun to step inside when Superintendent Adam Okaro appears behind him beckoning to his sergeant. 

 

“Craig could you spare me a moment please?” As usual he frames his order as a request.  He acknowledges Luke's presence with a nod of his head. 

 

“Constable.”

 

“Sir.” Luke steps respectfully back out of the way.

 

“Over here Craig, when you're ready,” says the Superintendent over his shoulder, as he disappears into Gina Gold's office.

 

As Craig sweeps past Luke on his way to join Okaro the back of his hand brushes against Luke's thigh.  Luke rolls his eyes in frustration: he had been hoping they could get a few moments alone together.

 

...

 

Superintendent Okaro waits until Craig is sitting down before he starts speaking, “We've had a call from 'The Jester', the cabaret bar on Gunner Street.”

 

“Sir?”

 

“It's a gay club...” prompts Okaro.

 

“I'm not familiar with it I'm afraid Sir.”  Are the rest of them expected to know every straight nightclub, strip joint and bar on their patch? Craig wonders irritably, trying not to let his feelings show on his face.

 

“No matter.  One of their employees has had a spot of bother on his way to work.  I don't really want to send a couple of uniforms down there.” The sound of laughter reaches them from outside and Okaro gestures towards the noise.  “And anyway, most of them already seem to be gearing up for this evening's entertainment.”

 

It's like being given an early Christmas present!  Craig is being handed a valid excuse for not participating. 

 

“I'll just put some civvies on then shall I sir?”

 

“If you'd be so kind.” Okaro smiles.  He lets Craig get as far as the door before adding almost as an afterthought, “It's a pity you'll miss Cop Idol – I was looking forward to some Tina Turner.” His smile widens at Craig's rapidly retreating figure as he settles himself more comfortably into Gina's chair.

 

...

 

Luke is hovering anxiously in the sergeants' changing room watching Craig delve about in his locker.

 

“So you're going to miss all of it?” He sounds a little disappointed.

 

Craig grins.  “With any luck, yes.” He bumps the door closed with his hip as he slings on his jacket and adjusts his scarf.  Luke is frowning slightly at him.

 

“What have you done?”

 

Luke shrugs.  “I put my name down too, you sounded so stressed about it on the phone to me earlier I thought - well I'm a rubbish singer, I thought you'd feel better if I we were both in it together.”

 

...

 

Jonathan, the owner of 'The Jester', a tall, slender, elegantly dressed; well groomed fifty year old with close-cropped silver grey hair greets Craig at the door.  His voice, as he ushers Craig through a maze of narrow corridors to a large clean dressing room at the rear of the club, has the gravel edge to it that tells of long years performing in smoky clubs and drinking gin. 

 

“I told him there's probably not a lot you can do,” he drawls, “but I do believe in reporting these things.  This is quite a quiet area; we don't normally have much trouble.  Not entirely sure it was queer bashers though.”

 

Craig manages to ignore the fact that the boy is quite possibly only sixteen - that isn't what he's there for.  His name is Patrick: he has delicate skin, neatly trimmed collar length blond hair and huge blue eyes framed with naturally long, dark lashes.  He's still trembling slightly from shock and sipping slowly at what had probably started out as a very large scotch.  In a well lit but little used alley on his way to the club two youths had stopped him to ask for a light.  As he'd paused to say that he didn't have one they'd grabbed him and 'persuaded' him into parting with his jewellery (one Storm watch, one thick silver curb chain, and the bracelet to match).  They had also grabbed his kit bag, which had contained a bright blue pair of four inch high, size ten stilettos that he had been going to wear as part of his costume that evening.  Fortunately he is unharmed and still has his wallet (which he had had zipped in an inside jacket pocket).  After talking to him for a while Craig finds himself in agreement with Jonathan that it was not a homophobic assault.  He takes a description of the attackers, gives Patrick a crime number and spends some more time reassuring him that he'd done the right thing by giving up his stuff without a fight.  As some of the other acts begin to arrive, Craig makes his excuses and leaves Patrick to be fussed over by the older men.

 

“He's a good boy,” explains Jonathan as they make their way back through the club, “I normally have him doing odd jobs around the place -” He looks hard at Craig.  “It keeps him off the streets.  When one of the guys offered to let him be part of a little tableau here tonight he was so excited.” 

 

“As long as I don't come back and catch him serving behind the bar...” Craig says, pausing on the pavement, his breath leaving plumes of vapour in the chill night air.

 

“I'll look forward to meeting you again then Sergeant.”  Jonathan politely offers his hand.

 

 

 

Craig looks down at their still clasped hands.  “I'm already spoken for I'm afraid.”

 

“The best ones always are,” sighs Jonathan melodramatically as he sweeps back into the club.

 

...

 

Leaving the side street Craig finds himself in a parade of shops near a late night chemist.  The opportunity is too good to miss: he nips inside for a few essentials.

 

Coming out of Superdrug with his purchases stashed safely in his pockets, he almost crashes headlong into Cass Rickman.  Studying a sheet of paper as she sings softly under her breath, she's not really watching where she's going.

 

“Sorry mate,” she says breaking off.  “Oh, hiya Sarge, what you doin' out here?”

 

“I had an errand to run,” he explains briefly, falling into step beside her. 

 

“Really?  I thought you were going to sing.”

 

“Not in front of an audience.”

 

“You're Welsh, I bet you've got a great voice.”

 

“Strictly for the shower I'm afraid,” he replies wryly.

 

“But you put yourself on the list yeah?”

 

“Matt Boyden's idea of a little joke I'm afraid.  Sorry to disappoint you.”

 

“Knew it!  Said you wouldn't dress up – you're far too straight for that.” She claps a hand across her mouth. “Sorry Sarge,”

 

“You're forgiven.” Craig gives her the low voltage version of his 'I'm your sergeant, don't mess with me' stare.  “Just this once.  And only because it's true.”  What the hell, he can let his hair down if he wants, it's nearly Christmas, they're neither of them in uniform and Cass _is_ a nice girl.

 

There is a bus shelter on the corner of the street ahead of them.  Craig notices the woman standing in it first because she's facing the wrong way if she's got to look for the bus coming, and second because she seems to be glaring at them as they approach. 

 

He nudges Cass, nodding towards the bus stop.  “Do you know that person?”

 

“That woman you mean?” She forces herself to smile brightly at the woman as they pass and waves.  “Her name's Pat, she's Simon's sister.  I don't think she likes me very much,” she explains after she has ungritted her teeth.

 

“Simon?”

 

“I'm sort of seeing him – you know - the reporter...” Cass trails off.  Glancing back over her shoulder she wonders briefly, why Pat the taxi driver is waiting for a bus, then shakes her head and looks up at the man beside her.  “So what you going to do to get Sergeant Boyden back this time Sarge?  Sending him those flowers was excellent, we've all heard about it.”

 

“When I decide I guarantee you'll be the first to know.”

 

...

 

Luke is already on the tiny stage when Craig and Cass arrive, damp with snow and slightly out of breath (from hurrying) back at the party.  He is dressed head to toe in black: from the trilby pushed back on his head, through the unbuttoned shirt (which reveals a comically oversized medallion) down to the leather trousers and boots.

Cass has missed singing with the other 'kittens' after all. 

 

“...Now you found the secret code

I use to wash away my lonely blues well,”

 

Craig misses the next bit of the song; he is far too distracted watching Luke's gyrations.  He's obviously enjoying himself dancing; he is undeniably very good at it.  It really is unfortunate that he doesn't have the singing voice to match.  In fact, it isn't until he starts blasting out the chorus that Craig recognises the song.

 

“Sexbomb sexbomb you’re a sexbomb, You can give it to me when I need to come along Sexbomb sexbomb you’re my sexbomb And baby you can turn me on

I’m your main target come and help me ignite Love struck holding you tight.”

 

Luke's gaze searches the room as he continues to sing and finds Craig lurking at the back by the food.  His eyes lock on the older man's face and he's suddenly very glad he's already hot and sweaty because there is no way he could sing the next line without turning scarlet.

 

“Make me explode although you know the route to go to sex me slow, And yes I must react to claims of those who say that you are not all that,”

 

Luke launches back into the chorus again after sending a dazzling smile out over the heads of his colleagues.  
“Sexbomb sexbomb you’re a sexbomb You can give it to me when I need to come along Sexbomb sexbomb you’re my sexbomb And baby you can turn me on. Sexbomb sexbomb you’re my sexbomb You can give it to me when I need to come along Sexbomb sexbomb you're my sexbomb And baby you can turn me on.  
You can turn me upside down and inside out. You can make me feel the real deal and I can give it to you any time because you’re mine.

 

You say that you are not all that,”  
Luke encourages the audience to sing along with the final chorus: he needs all the help he can get.

 

“Sexbomb sexbomb you’re my sexbomb And you can give it to me when I need to be turned on,  Sexbomb sexbomb you’re my sexbomb

And baby you can turn me on...”

 

Luke is crowing with delight as he runs off the stage: Craig had joined in!  Glass in hand, his lips had definitely been moving during the last chorus and then, right at the end, he'd looked up and grinned at him (oh how Luke _loves_ that grin).  In a room full of people they had managed to connect and no-one suspected a thing. 

 

...

 

Craig finds himself in the midst of a crowd of younger officers all clutching drinks.  Gemma, Kerry and Robbie (all still dressed-up in kittenish: white miniskirts, revealing tops and feather boas) have gathered round Cass to keep Simon Kitson away from her.  Nick is there because he is itching to talk to her; he is ignoring Kitson who is hovering a few feet away.  They are both awaiting an opportunity to get her on her own.

 

“I didn't know Tom Jones wore a hat,” remarks Nick snatching it off Luke's head.

 

“Oi do you mind? Robbie _made_ me wear it!” Luke swipes it out of Nick's hands and plonks it back on his own head, tipping it forward so he has to lift his chin to see under the brim.

 

“Maybe she thought you'd choose a different song. You know - if you had a hat on.” Winks Cass.

 

“I hope she wasn't expecting I'd strip as well!” Luke feigns indignation.  “Not in front of you lot anyway.”  He flashes a look at Craig over the top of his glass.

 

“Well I think it suits you Luke!”  Kerry grins. 

 

“Yeah, now we don't have to look at his ugly mug,” Nick smirks, “do we Sarge?”

 

“It's not that bad is it Sarge?” Kerry appeals to him.

 

“You don't really expect me to answer that do you Kerry?” he retorts, swallowing his smile with a large mouthful of beer.

 

“Never mind Luke, I love you.” Gemma pecks him on the cheek as she winds her boa around his neck.

 

“Aww thanks Gemma.”

...

 

If Gina Gold had been there to look out onto the yard a little later that evening, she would have seen her best sergeant striding down the ramp: jostling against his elbow, almost jogging to keep up, his collar drawn up against the cold, is up a slender male figure whose hands are thrust deep into his jacket pockets.  It’s possible she would, on second glance, wonder how Ashton could have forgotten gloves yet remembered to wear hat.  It's also possible that she wouldn't have given them a second glance at all.

 

...

 

There are lights glowing through the curtains of the Gilmore dwelling to welcome them home.  They are both policemen after all, it wouldn't do for them not  to employ such a simple burglar deterrent.

 

“Really like this hat, it's a pity you couldn't have kept those trousers on as well,” Craig mutters against the back of Luke's neck as he lets them into the house.

 

Luke looks at him and wonders if he is joking.  Reads the expression in his eyes.  Quickly decides he isn't.  “It would be hard to pretend I'd forgotten I was wearing the trousers,” he says in all seriousness.  “Do you like that then?  Leather?”  Arching one eyebrow suggestively, Luke crooks two fingers over Craig's waistband and pulls him indoors.

 

“You looked fantastic.  Glad you got rid of the medallion though.”

 

“So what are you going to give me as a reward then Oh Great Master?”

 

“Reward for what?  Minion.”

 

“For dressing up in leather trousers.”  An impish grin spreads across Luke's face.  “Are you going to get dressed up for me?” he wheedles prettily, tugging Craig along the hallway.

 

“You're getting a lot flirtier aren't you?  I think I like it.” Craig nuzzles deep into Luke's neck.

 

“You do?” Luke gets a little anxious about flirting now.  It had seemed so much easier, safer somehow, before - when they _weren't_ sleeping together

 

Lifting the hat from Luke's head Craig places it at a jaunty angle on his own. 

 

Luke giggles.  “It's a bit small!” 

 

“Be nice, or I shan't sing to you,” threatens Craig: sweeping Luke's arms up into position and waltzing him into the lamp lit lounge (he's already humming softly under his breath).

 

“Dee-dah, dah-de-dah de dah,”

 

“Some day, when I'm awfully low,

When the world is cold,

I will feel a glow just thinking of you...

And the way you look tonight.”

 

Luke rests his head against Craig's chest as they sway slowly.

 

“Yes you're lovely, with your smile so warm

And your cheeks so soft,”

 

Luke snorts softly and Craig breaks off just long enough to mutter a teasing reprimand before continuing:

 

“There is nothing for me but to love you,

And the way you look tonight.”

 

“Lovely.  Never, ever change.

Keep that breathless charm.

Won't you please arrange it ?

'Cause I love you ... Just the way you look tonight.”

 

 

 

Luke's heart thuds dully in his chest, he feels kind of sick, it's a similar sensation to the nervous anticipation he had felt in the first weeks of their relationship: before they'd started sleeping together.  It's only a song after all, he really shouldn't let it get to him.  Their feet are barely moving as Craig continues to hum after the words have finished.  When Craig bends his head to kiss him Luke surrenders his lips, yet inside a numbness is creeping through him.

 

Craig never says, “I love you.”

 

 

“What's the matter?”

 

“Nothing.” Luke is still propped against him, arms now wrapped loosely about his neck, head lolling against his shoulder.

 

Nothing he wants to talk about, thinks Craig. “Tired?”

 

“Bit droopy that's all.” Luke's voice is muffled against Craig's chest.

 

“That little bit of dancing you did earlier's worn you out has it?”

 

A sudden huge yawn splits Luke's face in two.  “Must have.”

 

“You'd better get straight up to bed then.” Between their bodies Craig sets his hands to work on the buttons of Luke's jacket. “Let's get this off you first.”

 

“Aren't you coming?” Luke's arms tighten compulsively.

 

“I'll be up in a minute” Craig promises, disentangling himself from the embrace.  He watches Luke disappear up the stairs as he removes his own coat.  Emptying his earlier purchases from the pockets (they won't be using any of them tonight) he follows Luke slowly up to bed.

 

...

 

Next morning when Luke pads down the stairs he can hear Craig singing a Christmas carol as he potters around the kitchen preparing breakfast for them both.  Luke smiles softly to himself as he strains to hear the words: the simple melody is unfamiliar to him.  The soft scrape of the grill pan on its runners announces Craig is just starting the bacon.  As Luke pushes the door open, the last line comes to him quite clearly. 

 

“...Yet what I can I give him,

Give my heart.”

 

Standing over by the kettle Craig hasn't noticed him yet.  Luke lets the door swing gently closed on the scene.  He rests his head against the wood of the jamb for a moment then, composing his features into a suitable happy expression, steps jauntily into the room.

 

...

 

Luke performed 'Sex Bomb': music and lyrics by Mousse T and Errol Rennalls.

Craig sang 'Just the Way You Look Tonight': music by Jerome Kern, lyrics by Dorothy Fields and the carol 'In the Bleak Midwinter': words from a poem by Christina Rossetti, set to music composed by Gustav Holst.

 

 

Christmas

 

A mountain of expensive presents sitting under the largest tree in the neighbourhood doesn't make the pain of everyday living disappear.  The resentment of a father who expects it to can make the holiday season a pretty miserable time. 

 

Chapter 8

Soon after Cop Idol Craig goes out and buys Luke a rather fine pair of navy blue, micro-fleece gloves with a matching hat and scarf: he checks the brand name twice before taking them to the counter to pay for them.  He worries that Luke might think he is trying to mother him.  But even if Luke refuses to wear the hat he's definitely going to make him wear the gloves: cold hands might be a sign of a warm heart, but when Luke climbs into bed with him after being on lates they are just torture.

 

As Craig is working Christmas Day Luke has promised to spend it with his mother (he is rarely there these days after all).  He isn't sure which he is most worried about: avoiding his mother's questions; meeting Craig's family on Boxing Day; or exchanging gifts with Craig on Christmas Eve.

 

At the beginning of December Luke had bought Craig a really good pair of German, warmly lined, black leather, motorcycle gauntlets.  (He's not sure why they're called that because they just look like any other pair of perfectly ordinary gloves to him.)  Craig's current pair are seriously in need of replacing and he knows Craig well enough, by now, to know he hates having cold hands.  After Craig's comment about the leather trousers though he gets rather nervous about giving them to him.

 

...

 

In the event Luke needn't have worried.  Craig reads nothing more into the gloves than that Luke hates him having cold hands too.  His mother asks very few questions about where he has been spending his nights (looking back on it afterwards he wonders why he didn't find this more strange).  And, after meeting Craig's family, ends up worrying if they like him as nearly as much as he likes them.

 

Craig needn't have worried either.  Luke loves his scarf (especially as it comes saturated with essence of Craig from being hidden in his wardrobe), is ambivalent about the gloves (until the night Craig refuses to be his hand-warmer any more) and conveniently leaves the hat behind at Craig's sister's house a couple of days later. 

 

**“Binker, what I call him, is a secret of my own.” (AA Milne)**

 

 

Mothers

 

For a very small boy lying in another strange bed crying for his mother, when someone comes, even though she smells different (again) and looks different (again), the important thing is that her hugs work properly (even though they too are not the same). 

 

 

**Chapter 9**

 

“I'm warning you now,” says Craig as he and Luke huddle together in the porch of a large1930's, red brick, semi-detached house, “it's going to be bedlam in there.”

 

Luke takes a deep breath and sets his jaw determinedly, clutching Craig's hand tightly for a couple of seconds before releasing it.

 

“I'm ready, let's go.”

 

The sound of the door chimes fade, to be replaced by the thud of rapidly approaching footsteps. 

 

“Ungle Raggy!” squeals a six year-old moppet gleefully rushing towards them.  She squeezes past the petite, blonde haired woman who has come to greet them and throws her arms around his leg (it's the only bit of him she can reach).

 

“Hello Rosie love.” Craig smiles tolerantly, disentangling himself from her clutches and swinging her up to dangle in front of him like a monkey before setting her back down in front of her mother, who puts restraining hands on her shoulders.

 

“Craig it's so lovely to see you,” says his sister warmly, kissing him on the cheek.  “Rosie run along now – Uncle Craig and his friend have had a long journey.”  She turns her attention to Luke.  “You must be Luke – can't say I've heard an awful lot about you.” She nods her head at her younger brother.  “He's dreadful!  Come in, come in, we don't bite.  Welcome to the madhouse, I'm Anna, that was Rosie my daughter and this -” She gestures to a ten year-old boy heading towards them.  “Is my son Bobby.”

 

Bobby looks up from his Gameboy for precisely one point two seconds:  “Hiya,” he says.  Mission accomplished he turns on his heel and goes back the way he came.

 

“Thanks for inviting me,” offers Luke, shaking her hand just long enough to be polite.

 

“I've put you in the new extension,” she announces as she leads them towards the rear of the house and just keeps right on talking.  “It's David's study really but the sofa bed's a good one so you should be quite comfy.  He won't be working the next few days of course, so just leave it down in the morning.”  There's a little cloakroom through there -” She waves her hand at a door opposite.  “It's got a proper sink not one of those piddly little things.   Mam and dad are late.” A fond smile curves her lips when she says this, as if it's only to be expected of them.  “So you've got time to freshen up before dinner.”  You can show Luke where to find the upstairs bathroom can't you Craig?”  Finally falling silent she opens a door for them, standing a little awkwardly in the passage as they drop their bags onto the bed.  “Yes – well I'll let you get settled then– just come through when you're ready.”  She closes the door and leaves them in peace.

 

“Wow!” Luke's body shakes with barely contained laughter as he places a hand on Craig's shoulder.

 

Craig smiles hugely.  “She'll crash in a couple of hours, then you'll meet the real Anna.  She's just on an organising high at the moment.” He folds himself onto the fractionally too low bed tugging Luke down with him, and kisses him lightly on the nose.  “Thanks for coming.”

 

...

 

It is an evening unlike any other for Luke.  The Gilmore children are good-natured and teasing.  Their blue-eyed parents Megan and Andrew (when they finally arrive) are cheerfully apologetic and entertaining.  Even David, Anna's startlingly good-looking husband, is terrific company.  Rosie and Bobby dash about like it's still Christmas day and the adults humour them until the food and wine have been fussed and chatted over, the table cleared, and coffees drunk. 

 

Anna returns from putting Rosie to bed (way past her usual bedtime) and saying goodnight to Bobby to find Luke up to his elbows in suds.  Craig is supervising: his hands resting on Luke's waist, his chin tucked firmly into the shorter man's shoulder.  Smiling sweetly to herself, she withdraws from the scene and goes to join the others watching the Boxing Day movie.  No one is surprised when Craig pops his head round the door a little while later to say he and Luke are going to turn in early.

 

...

 

Craig is rummaging through his belongings while Luke sits on the corner of the bed peeling off his trousers.

 

“I like your mum and dad,” he says smiling, “they're not a bit like you are they?” 

 

“Thanks very much, I don't think.”

 

“I mean they don't look like you.  Your dad's not any taller than I am and your mum is _tiny_!”

 

Craig stops hunting for his wash kit. 

 

“They're really nice though.  Friendly.” Luke continues pulling some pyjama bottoms on.  Craig lets himself down onto David's desk, watching as Luke proceeds to fold his clothes into a neat stack beside him on the bed.  It never gets any easier, this moment.

 

“And your sister's a great cook isn't she? I'm not surprised though – you cook really well too - I suppose you inherited that from your parents?”  Luke's got his head down, taking tomorrow's clothes from his bag and pulling out a carrier for his dirty stuff.

 

“I wouldn't know.  Anna-” Craig clears his throat causing Luke to look up enquiringly.  “Isn't my birth sister,” he finishes, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on his knees.

 

...

 

“So you never knew your real mum and dad?” Luke asks as he cradles Craig's head against his chest long after the sounds of the other Gilmores going to bed have faded.

 

“I don't remember having any other parents,” says Craig heavily, “they _are_ my mam and dad.”

 

“I'm sorry, you must get heartily fed up of doing this...”  Luke dabs ineffectively at the tawny mess of hair that is tickling his chin.  “Don't tell me if you don't want to - it makes no difference to me.”

 

“I've been with them since I was three.  Anna was nearly thirteen then…”  Craig scrunches up the bed to put his head on the pillow.  “Mam and dad had fostered a few kids before me, but they'd always wanted to adopt.”  Their hands are sandwiched between their chests, Luke's fingers twined through Craig's, his lips whiffling soundlessly over them as he listens through the darkness.  “That makes them sound like they ordered kids on approval-”

 

“No.” Luke soothes his free hand over Craig's shoulder.  “I'm sure it wasn't like that.”

 

“It really wasn't you know.  Mam found it got harder and harder to say goodbye to them...  Anyway-” he shoves his face needily into Luke's hand when it moves to caress his cheek.  “I came along and made their lives complete.  So mam says.” Craig twists a small smile into the night. 

 

Luke catches the smile with his fingers and lips, smoothing it with his tongue until it forms a silent “Oh”. The crumple of duvet gives way to the swell of skin on skin.  And the sound of their breathing fills the room until they rock and feel, and have kissed each other breathless.

 

Luke understands just how the Gilmores must have felt.

 

...

 

The kettle roars unnaturally loud in the early morning kitchen as Craig waits with freezing fingers, stabbing a spoon at the granules of sugar and coffee in bottom of his mug, as if this might hasten the whole process.

 

He grabs another mug from the shelf and throws a teabag into it.  “Do you still take sugar?” he asks quietly over his shoulder, already stretching his hand towards the jar.  She's always known when to find him.

 

“No,” says Anna, “not for a while now.  You've told him then?”

 

“Yes.”

 

The kettle shuts off with a snap, followed by the phwump of the central heating boiler kicking in.

 

“He is a policeman after all, trained observer and all that... and you're like a troll that's been stuck in with the elves.”

 

“Just call me ugly why don't you!” Craig exclaims, but he's smiling at her as she settles herself at the kitchen table.

 

“Okay, _Ugly!_ ” Anna accepts the steaming mug he holds out to her, taking it carefully in both hands.  “Just like old times,” she says, blowing softly across the top of it.  “You and me in the kitchen talking about boys, sharing secrets, dissecting the universe.  Mam and dad upstairs asleep.”

 

“There was never a man in bed in the next room though as I recall.  For either of us,” Craig replies, sitting down with his back to the door.

 

“Mam would have killed us if there were.” Anna grins.  “Come on, cariad, what did he say?  Tell your big sister all about it.  How did he react?  He's still here isn't he?  Didn't get up in the middle of the night and creep out on you just because he didn't think you were the perfect man any more did he?”

 

“Bitch.”

 

“Even you couldn't have that happen to you twice.”

 

“Don't.” Craig says baldly.

 

“Sorry my love.” She reaches across to touch his hand.  “But you've had some atrocious boyfriends.  What's wrong with this one?”

 

“Nothing,” says Craig mutinously.

 

 "There's always something. If it's not because you're a policeman; it's because you're too straight; they don't like that you've got scars; they like the scars too much..."

 

“You're fishing.”

 

“So what if I am?”

 

“Luke's worked in Africa - he's seen men, women _and_ children who are missing arms and legs do you really think he's going to be phased by my few 'dents'?”

 

“Well!  I've never heard you call them that before.  So he's not hung up on your appearance good for him.  He can't be worried that you're a copper as he's one too...”

 

“Anna you're wonderful.  But it really is none of your business.”

 

“Fine!  So you told him you're adopted and...?”

 

“He was really fine about the whole thing.  Didn't bother him a bit.”

 

“Keeping him then are you?”

 

I want to keep him forever thinks Craig.  “I love him,” he says simply.

 

“It's not me you need to be telling.”

 

“You think I don't know that?”

 

“So where's the problem?”

 

“Look at him!  He's only just discovered he's gay.  He's young, he's gorgeous...” Craig shrugs.

 

“Right now though Craig, he's smitten – it's written all over him.”

 

“I'm _there_ for him,” he says desperately.  “Don't you see?  On tap, twenty-four hours a day.  He never goes anywhere - because I don't.  He doesn't know anyone gay except me.  He's my responsibility and I'm failing him.  He should be out there, not ..” He drops his forehead onto his outstretched arms, muffling his next words.  “... with me.”

 

Anna squeezes his arm.  “You're exasperating you know that? How a beautiful, warm, _loving_ man can be so sure of his sexual identity yet lack the self worth to believe that another man might actually love him back is beyond me.  I blame that bloody woman for leaving you.”

 

“I love him so much.  But be won't want me.  Not when he sees what's out there waiting for him.”

 

“You just don't want to say it first!”

 

Craig looks guiltily at his hands.

 

“He's already said it, and you didn't say it back,” she accuses, looking at him so hard he squirms. 

 

“He has-” Craig draws an uneven breath.  “But he can't mean it.”

 

“Mind reader too now are you?”

 

“He may think he loves me.” Craig wipes the dampness from his cheek.  “He may actually love me, but how could he possibly be 'in love' with me?”

 

“You don't give me much credit do you?” Luke's voice bites into the morning, teeth grating against each other as he thrusts his jaw forward.  He's shaking, though whether it's from cold (he's only pulled on a t-shirt of Craig's above his thin pyjama bottoms) or anger it's difficult to tell.

 

Craig crumples.  “How much did you hear?”

 

“You think I'm some kid or something?  That I don't know what I'm doing-”  Luke snarls, slamming his hand onto the pine by Craig's arm: making the table quiver.

 

“You can't...” Craig starts weakly.

 

“Know how I feel?”  He snaps against Craig's ear. 

 

“It could have been anyone...”

 

“Luke -”  It's Anna's voice from the other side of the table.  Anna's hand gentle on his own.  He snatches it away.

 

“No, It, Couldn't!”

 

“The children are sleeping...” Anna pleads, “Don't...”

 

Luke glares at her.  “He can tell you he loves me!  Why can't he tell me?”  Two bright spots of colour burn on his cheeks, but there's a catch in his throat and a suspicion of tears in his eyes. 

 

“Mommy?” says a little voice from the doorway.

 

“I can't do this!” Luke cries hoarsely.  He runs from the room leaving Craig and Anna staring helplessly at each other.

 

“I'd better get after him,” says Craig scraping his chair back.  “He's upset.”

 

 _“That's upset?_ What sort of upset is that? _”_

“It's 'I'mLukeAshton-INeverCry' upset,” replies Craig over his shoulder, nearly tripping over Rosie on his way to the door.

 

“Never, ever gries?” she asks, sleepily winding a finger into her hair.

 

“Silly isn't he?” Craig confirms, checking to see she's not damaged before striding from the room.

 

...

 

Luke hasn't bothered to get back into bed, instead he has his knees drawn up inside Craig's t-shirt while he rocks.

 

“I don't want to be out.” Are his unexpected first words as Craig walks through the door.

 

“You don't have to be.”

 

“I'm not ready.”

 

“You don't have to be.  Are you...” Craig stops hesitantly by the bed. “Can I touch you yet?”

 

“No!” Luke retreats further inside his shielding.  “He should be out,” he quotes miserably.

 

“It wasn't about that – it was - I was trying to explain -” Craig is interrupted by a scratch at the door.  Opening it a crack he can see Rosie standing outside clutching her 'bear', Anna is hovering in the background mutely gesturing him to allow the small girl inside.

 

“It's a visitor for you.” Craig smiles, opening the door wider to let her in.

 

Rosie's 'bear' is a squashy pastel creation of green, blue, and pink fabric, a strip of yellow satin serving as a mane marks him as a lion.  “Raggy,” she says solemnly holding it out to Luke.  He's never been offered a huggly before, when he doesn't take it straight away she clambers up onto the bed and balances it on his knees whilst she presses her face very close against his ear.  When she leaves the room Luke is already gently stroking the loosely woven fabric between his fingers, puzzling over the tiny silky scraps which line its ears.

 

Craig squats on the bottom of the bed watching the tension ease from Luke's body.  “Better?”

 

“You did mean me?”  Luke checks.  Because he might have got it wrong, after all he hadn't been trying to listen.  He'd woken up and been lonely in a strange bed on his own.  “You haven't-” It's his worst nightmare.  “Haven't found someone else?”  Someone else he _loves._   Oh god -  it could be worse.  “It's Sean isn't it?  You're still in love with _him_ aren't you?”

 

“NO!” Craig shuffles along the bed towards him appalled.

 

“I thought we -” He won't cry.  Won't.  “We were doing okay.”

 

“We are.” Craig tries a hand on Luke's foot.  He flinches but doesn't move away.

 

“If you've found somebody better you should-” Luke hates the way his eyes sting when he gets like this.

 

“There isn't anyone.”

 

Luke clutches Raggy to his chest as Craig's hand slides up to his knee.  “Because I can't do this without you Craig.” 

 

Which is, after all, just what Craig's afraid of.  “I brought you here -”  Why is this so hard?  “I brought you here to meet my family because-”  Craig curls his feet up onto the bed, coming to rest before Luke: enveloping him with his arms and legs.  “Because-” Craig rests his head against Luke's when it remains desperately bowed downwards.  “I love you Luke.”

 

...

 

It seems to Luke like they've been sitting here together for ever, his head buried in Craig's shoulder, but he doesn't really want to move, not while Craig's stroking his hair.  He shifts his weight slightly, slipping his arms around Craig's waist.  “I don't want to use you.”

 

“I know.”  Craig presses a kiss onto Luke's temple.

 

Luke turns his head and sees the expression on Craig's face.  “But you think I am anyway,” he says flatly.

 

It's hopeless.  “You're so new at this.”  Craig says cautiously, stroking Luke's back now.  “There's so much for you to see and do.  I've kept you to myself for far too long.  I've never even taken you out to dinner.” Stupid - he thinks - romantic (even if un-candlelit) dinners for two at home are one thing, but offering to take Luke out for one is going to be far too intimate a suggestion.  “You know, you looked incredible when you did Cop Idol, I could take you clubbing.”

 

 

“I don't think I'd like 'the scene'.” Luke says quickly, straightening up.

 

“That's what I mean, you wouldn't know would you?”

 

“I've read about it.” Coming from Luke it sounds dangerously like an accusation.

 

“Reading about stuff is not the same as actually doing it.”

 

“Do you even _go_ clubbing?”  Luke can't picture it at all.

 

The problem with clubbing for Craig isn't the noise or the flashing lights (which give him a headache); it's not the alcohol; or even the drugs (which make every police fibre of his being jerk to attention) but the fact that he has no sense of rhythm and feels like a total prat prancing about on the dance floor.

 

“I have been known to.”  Craig's been known to do a lot of things that he'd rather not have done to please his partners.  Dancing is nowhere near being the most unpleasant.  “What would you rather do?”

 

Luke's looking apprehensive.  “Can I,” he asks earnestly, “have some time to think about it?”

 

...

 

They are all gathered together on the driveway, in the early afternoon gloom, to say goodbye.

 

Luke is apologising again. 

 

“I'm really sorry about this morning,”

 

“So you've said about a million times already, and taken the kids to run around on the Rec', _and_ done even more washing-up,” Anna says, “It's fine.  Really.  You're welcome here any time.”

 

“I'm so embarrassed.”

 

“Don't worry about it.  Craig's thrown plenty of hissy fits in his time.”

 

“Really?”  Luke finds it difficult to imagine Craig ever throwing any sort of tantrum.

 

Anna pats his arm.  “l'll tell you next time,” she promises loudly enough for Craig to hear.

 

...

 

“Binker!” exclaims Craig as the car speeds the last few miles of the M4.

 

“What?” Beside him on the passenger seat Luke opens one bleary eye, he'd been snoozing, propped up against the window.

 

Craig hadn't realised he'd spoken aloud.  “Nothing, go back to sleep.”

 

...

 

Back home they leave their bags in the hall and, whilst Craig disappears upstairs to the bathroom, Luke heads straight for the kitchen to brew up.  When Craig comes down a few minutes later there are two steaming mugs waiting on the counter and Luke is standing beside them with his hand already in the biscuit tin.

 

“Binker,” mumbles Craig against the back of Luke's neck groping over his shoulder, their fingers colliding on the custard cream Luke knows he's after.

 

“Isn't that what you said in the car?”

 

“Mmm” nods Craig with his mouth full.  He swallows.  “Binker isn't greedy but he does like things to eat,” he quotes, waving at the tin in Luke's hand.

 

“If you say so.”  Luke gives him a funny look.

 

“Did you not read when you were a child?”

 

“There weren't exactly a lot of books in our house...”

 

“That would explain your spelling then.”

 

“There's nothing wrong with my spelling!” says Luke indignantly.

 

“So I had to make you rewrite a whole stack of reports for Inspector Gold because?”

 

“The balance of my mind was disturbed.”

 

“I'm sorry?” Craig exclaims.

 

“And so you you should be.  You _were_ the reason I couldn't think straight.”  Luke deposits the empty tin on the table.

 

“Sorry.”

 

“That's okay I forgive you.  You were going to tell me..?” prompts Luke.

 

“It's A.A. Milne,” says Craig.  “You know, Winnie the Pooh?” 

 

“There was Piglet, Owl, Kanga and Roo, Eeyore -” Luke gives Craig a considering look.  “Winnie the Pooh, Rabbit, er Tigger, oh and Christopher Robin.” He finishes proudly.  “I don't remember anything about a Beaker.”

_“Binker._ He's not in the stories.  It's a poem Rosie reminded me of this morning.”  He tugs Luke towards him.

 

“So what's the rest?”

 

Craig wrinkles his forehead in apparent concentration.  “I'm not sure love,” he lies.

 

“Say that again!” demands Luke.

 

“Love.” 

 

Craig's mouth is sticky sweet with icing still.

 

...

 

“Shh, shhh,” soothes Craig against Luke's ear, his hands digging into the base of Luke's spine as they come together, trousers pooled round their knees, over each other's stomachs to the sound of Luke bawling for release.

 

...

 

Craig is giggling as he grabs a handful of kitchen roll.

 

Luke rolls his eyes and groans.  “Don't tell me.  Binker!”

 

“I am **so** sorry,” hiccoughs Craig doing his best to sober up.  “You took me by surprise that's all.  It isn't like you to make so much noise.  'He sometimes likes to do it with a hoodling sort of roar.'”

 

“I'm glad I amuse you so much,” Luke pouts.

 

“C'mere soft sod,” growls Craig.

 

“Only-” Luke's grinning (Rosie really does have a lot to answer for).  “If I can call you _Raggy!_ ”

 

...

 

He took me to the banqueting house and his banner over me was Love.  (Old Testament)

 

Banner.  Not comforter.  Not security blanket. BANNER.

 

Luke had felt Craig's unfurl above him the second he'd said, 'I love you'.  It empowers him.  Beneath it all things seem possible.

 

 

 

** Chapter 10 **

 

Returning back to work after their brief sojourn, Craig drops Luke off, just before they reach the High Street, to complete the last part of the journey on his own.  It has gotten to be something of a routine for them.  The major problem with this arrangement as far as Craig is concerned is that, if Luke is to arrive on  time, _he_ must get there early. 

 

He groans when Gina Gold stops him in the corridor before he's even got as far as his office.

 

“Ah Craig, I'm glad you're in early.  Can I have a word please?”

 

“Ma'am.”

 

“Come in, shut the door.”

 

“Cass Rickman -” Gina begins, settling herself behind her desk, “has been receiving malicious phone calls.”

 

“Ma'am?”

 

“She came to me, last week, after Robbie Cryer became aware of the situation.”

 

Craig sits patiently as she lights a cigarette and inhales deeply.

 

“That's better,” she says visibly relaxing into her seat.  “She – Cass – wanted to laugh it off at first, but it's gone well beyond the funny stage now.”

 

“It has?”

 

“I'm sorry I'm not explaining very well am I?  It's got me _so_ annoyed.”  Craig can well believe it, the words 'lioness' and 'cubs' spring to mind: when it had emerged there was a serial killer on their patch, Gina's first thoughts had been for the safety of her 'girls'.  “She started getting calls on her mobile a couple of weeks ago.  She thought it was young lads mucking about at first, no-one speaking, but she could hear breathing in the background.”

 

“I thought text messaging was all the rage with teenagers these days - all that, 'I know what you did last summer!' sort of thing.” Craig folds his arms across his chest and settles back onto the cheap plastic chair.

 

“Yes, well, anyway, she put up with it for about a week - hoping he'd get bored I suppose.  Then she mentioned it to Kerry.  Robbie got hold of it and, bless her, made Cass come and see me.  She sees the serial killer hiding behind every curtain does our Robbie.”

 

“Cass had tried ringing the caller back?”

 

“Number withheld.”

 

Craig raises an eyebrow.

 

“Yes, your average teenager often doesn't bother with that does he?” Gina agrees.

 

“So there's no tracing the owner that way...”

 

“The Malicious Calls people gave her the spiel about leaving it turned off for a week.”

 

“Not particularly practical.”

 

“No.  She decided to give it a try it though.”

 

Craig waits, he knows he wouldn't be sitting here if there wasn't still a problem.

 

“ _So now_ -” Gina leans heavily across the desk.  “He's started calling her at home.”

 

“That is something entirely different,” says Craig.

 

“Yes _I_ think so.”

 

“You've tried Kitson, the ex-boyfriend?  ”

 

The break up had come as news to her but, of course, Luke is bound to keep Craig up to date with the latest gossip from the lower ranks. 

 

“The last time he made any calls to her from _his_ phone was the night before all this started.”

 

“You're sure?”

 

“Yes Craig, we've checked!”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“I went and spoke to him – _apparently_ he lost his phone for a while round about then-”

 

“But he's got it back now!” snorts Craig.

 

“Can you possibly let me finish without interrupting?”

 

“Sorry ma'am.”

 

“He found it under the front seat of one of the cars he drives a couple of days later.”

 

“One of the cars?” queries Craig.

 

“You just can't help yourself can you?  Yes _one_ of the cars – he lives with his sister: she runs a minicab service - therefore he has the use of more than one vehicle.  His own, apparently, was in the garage.  Cass confirms it's a heap that was always breaking down.”

 

“I see.  So anyone _could have_ picked it up and copied any or all of the numbers from his phonebook?  Has anyone else he knows had calls?”

 

“Not that we are aware of.  _He_ obviously didn't want to part with any details, typical bloody journalist, but he did promise he'd contact the people involved and get back to us.”

 

“We've only got his word for that.”

 

“Unfortunately, yes. _If_ others are getting harassed as well we'll have to investigate it differently.  For now though, it's a lot of trouble for a kid to have gone to wouldn't you say?”

 

“Yes, I think I would!  So, what are we doing about it?”

 

“Well I have her on duty about the station as much as possible CAD, custody, the front desk - just to keep an eye on her - I think the calls to her home phone really shook her up. Until then she was pretty convinced it was just some prankster.  You know Cass - she's putting a brave face on it, but we both know she'd rather be out nicking villains.”

 

“She never was a station cat,” Craig agrees.

 

“I want her back out on the streets as soon as possible Craig.  We need to get this sorted.”

 

“So where do we go from here?”

 

“I don't know.  I was hoping you'd have some suggestions.”

 

“Well this isn't a cheap TV drama - so there won't be an ex-con lurking in the background, hunting her down for revenge.  You've got someone working on it?”

 

“The telephone bods are looking into it now.  But if it is the same person – it's too great a coincidence otherwise – they won't be stupid enough to start using a land line.  So I don't think there's much they'll be able to do.”

 

“Well Shane Pellow was livid with her for interfering in his love life – but he's more likely to have waited outside the station with a baseball bat and swung for her.  There's Martin Porter – he's capable of doing something like that I suppose.  And - it's just a thought - but have you spoken to Kitson's sister?”

 

“I sent someone round because of the mobile being in her taxi, why?”

 

“She didn't like Cass.”

“ _Really_?  Cass hasn't mentioned it.”

 

“Well then it's probably nothing, only,” He pauses.  “I was with Cass one evening when I noticed this woman glaring at us from a bus stop.  On asking her who it was, Cass _informed_ me it was Kitson's sister and that she didn't think the woman liked her very much.”  Oh that was a little scary – for a second it had sounded like he'd been reading from his notebook – Gina's obviously noticed too because she's allowing herself a small smile.

 

“When was this exactly?”

 

A lot has happened in the last few weeks, he has to think for a moment.  “It would have been the night of Cop Idol.  Superintendent Okaro had sent me out to do an interview.  I bumped into Cass in the street and walked back to the station with her.”

 

“Do you know why Cass wasn't in the station herself?”

 

“No ma'am.  She was supposed to be performing, but by the time we got back the entertainment was nearly over and Kitson was here, waiting for her.”

 

“It's a bit of a leap isn't it? Giving someone the evil eye in the street when you happen to see them's one thing.  This is a few levels up from that.”

 

“You wanted suggestions.  And - ” He frowns: there was something about the intensity of the woman's gaze that night that had made his skin crawl, “I didn't like the way she looked at me.”

 

“Well _you_ wouldn't would you?”

 

“HA”

 

He has good instincts, it's the main reason he's her favourite sergeant.  “Seriously Craig –  if you think it's worth talking to her again – I'll go and have a little chat myself.”

 

...

 

“You know that Simon has a wife who just vanished don't you?” Robbie whispers loudly across her coffee, drawing her chair closer under the table.

 

“No.” says Luke.  He's not really very interested.  He's concerned for Cass, she's a mate after all, but Robbie loves a bit of drama so does tend to blow things up out of all proportion.  “Who told you that?” 

 

“Cass did.  That's why I was so worried when she started getting these phone calls.  As soon as I found out that is,” she amends.

 

“Maybe she'd just had enough of him.  Look at all those husbands who've gone for cigarettes one night and are never seen again.” Luke gets up to leave (He's just spotted Craig coming along the corridor and doesn't want to miss the opportunity of smiling at him on his way out the door).

 

“Yes,” she says reproachfully, “And look at all those missing girls' bodies found under Fred West's patio!” But she's talking to herself, Luke's already gone.

 

“Oh Sarge!” Coming up the corridor behind him, Kerry stops Craig in his tracks just as Luke walks past - so the smile which he is sure had been meant for him gets spread across the floor instead.  “Cass is going to be moving in with me and Gary for a little while – I thought you ought to know.”

 

He turns to face her.  “Thanks Kerry.  Can you remind her to make sure her contact details have been amended with that information for me please when you see her?”

 

“Sure thing Sarge.  Did you have a good Christmas?”

 

“I was here working Christmas Day, it was fairly quiet. I think we must have all eaten mince pies till our eyes bulged.  I did manage to see my family on Boxing Day though.”

 

“I bet that was nice...”

 

Luke's heading slowly back towards them.  “Yes, it was.” Craig nods briefly.  “Now, if you'll excuse me, I really should be getting back to work and I'm sure you have somewhere to be don't you?”

 

“Just Refs Sarge.”

 

Craig glances at his watch. “You'd best get on then or you'll be out of time.  Constable Ashton!”  He calls over her shoulder.  He loves it when Luke acts surprised.

 

“Yes Sarge?”

 

“Could I have a word please?”

 

...

 

The daily homeward trip for both men is less problematical by reason of the fact that they leave the station separately.  Luke tries to finish work every day as close to 'on time' as possible so that he can stop at his mother's to pick up his mail and sometimes, fresh clothes.  Whilst Craig (as befits his rank) can still be at his desk anything up to an hour past when he ought to have been home.

 

...

 

“Have you ever thought about buying a bicycle to get to work on?” muses Craig after that first day back.  He's stretched out on the sofa, all soft edges and damp skin after his shower, one towelling covered arm thrown across his eyes, absolutely exhausted. 

 

On the television screen, in the corner of the room, Kevin Costner (of all people) is pedalling his way across The Rockies in 'American Flyers'.  The best thing about the film as far as both men are concerned – when either of them can be bothered to look at the screen - is the scenery.

 

Luke looks up, his thumbs continuing to rub slow circles into the balls of the long feet nestled in his lap.  “It wouldn't work.”

 

“Why not?  Too lazy?”

 

“No, but how much energy do you think I'd have left after I've pedalled the trip from work to mum's and then here?”

 

The arm comes down slowly as Craig raises his head from the armrest. “Not nearly enough.  You're right, it's a bad idea.”

 

Luke lifts Craig's legs, sliding out from underneath them to squeeze into the narrow gap between Craig and the back of the sofa, pulling the throw from the back down over the pair of them.  “You're only this tired because of driving all the way back from Gloucestershire yesterday,” he offers, as Craig makes space for him.

 

“I suppose.”

 

“Why don't we go up to bed as soon as this is over?” Luke curves a hand inside Craig's robe, fingering the crisp hairs beneath.  “Have an early night?” 

 

Craig raises one eyebrow.  “Go to bed to sleep?”

 

Luke grins.  “It's not unheard of, you know, for two men to go to bed together and just snuggle.”   

 

...

 

The following morning when Gina has Luke accompany her as she pays a visit to number 12 Rose Terrace he interprets it, not entirely incorrectly, as some form of punishment for being late on parade.   (Craig had been even harder to rouse than usual, Luke had finally had to resort to stripping the bedclothes off him to get him up.  After pelting down the street to catch the bus he'd still ended up being ten minutes late compared to Craig's five.) 

 

Patricia Kitson's responses to Inspector Gold's questions are incredibly believable and not at all too highly polished.

 

“I don't like it,” remarks Luke thoughtfully when they arrive back at the patrol car.”

 

“What's not to like?” asks his Inspector, glaring at him over the roof of the vehicle.  “She gave us perfectly acceptable answers to some awkward questions which would be difficult for anyone to answer.”

 

Luke blinks a little, “I know that ma'am.”

 

“So?” And giving him no opportunity to reply she jerks the passenger door open.

 

As Luke watches her lower herself into her seat he is still working on it 

 

“She wasn't uncomfortable enough!” he blurts out as he settles himself behind the wheel.

 

“No need to shout Luke,” the Inspector winces.

 

“Sorry ma'am.”

 

“As it happens, I agree with you.”

 

“Ma'am?” He'd been preparing himself for one of her lectures.

 

She smiles grimly.  “Oh yes, there's definitely something wrong with that one.  I can't put my finger on it yet, but I can smell it.  This won't be the last time I'll be having words with that young madam, you can be sure of that.”

 

...

 

Glancing through the window Gina can see Craig's desk looks like a tornado has ripped through a paper factory and blown itself out just as it got to him: she has the door open before her first knock has time to reach his ears.

 

“Craig, you'd better know as soon as possible, CID will be borrowing Gemma Osbourne for a few days.”

 

“Right ma'am.  By the way - how did it go this morning?”

 

“Very revealing actually.  You know Craig - young Ashton isn't the same boy he was when he arrived back here last July.  Nothing like it.”

 

It wasn't quite the response he'd been expecting.  “Ma'am?”

 

“He's turning out to be quite a good little officer now.  It must come from being under you.

 

Craig busies himself with the files closest to hand.  “I seem to remember you thinking he had potential.”

 

“Yes, but he seems to have really _benefitted_ from your close personal attention.”

 

“He gets the same treatment from me as everyone else on the relief.  If you're trying to imply-” Craig blusters.

 

“Relax Craig, I'm not _Implying_ anything.” she counters sharply. 

 

“Sorry ma'am.”

 

“Not necessary.” She waves her hand magnanimously.  “As long as nothing stupid happens to screw him up Ashton's going to be a real credit to the force some day.  He has a real 'copper's nose' that one.  He knows there's something up with that Kitson woman and he's sure enough of himself now to make certain  this 'old dragon' knew it too.”

 

She sweeps from the room feeling a little guilty: the fun of winding Craig up is losing it's appeal these days.  It can't have been easy for him to have gone  back to living partly in the closet - no matter how much he cares for  Ashton – because if Luke was 'out' it would have been all over the station by now and she'd have _had_ to get involved.  She really is going to have to put Craig out of his misery soon and let him know she knows, she decides.  Whether he lets Luke know will then be up to him.  One thing's for sure he'd been right, all those months ago, when he'd said that it was complicated.

 

...

 

“Are you going to come to this birthday bash for Gary at the 'Roundhead' on Tuesday?” Luke asks Craig, over dinner later that night.

 

“I wasn't intending to.  A bunch of drunken coppers intent on having a good time is worse than a coach load of vandals. ”

 

“Is it okay if I go?  I won't have too much to drink I swear,” he adds rapidly, “They have to wind it up by eleven anyway so I'll be back in plenty of time to see the New Year in properly with you I promise.”

 

“I'm not your keeper Luke.  Go, enjoy yourself.” Craig grins knowingly.  “You do know Inspector Gold's planning to attend don't you?”

 

“She's not?”

 

“She never turns down an invitation Luke, especially if there's a booze involved.

 

...

 

“So Cass, how's it going?”

 

“What?”

 

Luke perches his bottom on the edge of the front office desk, swinging his foot.  “Staying with the lovebirds?  Now you've been there a bit.”

 

“Well,” she says quietly, looking around to check Robbie's out of earshot. (She's busy dealing with, an obviously very deaf, elderly man who's lost his dog - so the coast's clear.) “I don' know that love has much to do with it really.”

 

“Oh no?  That's not how Gary tells it.”

 

“Poor Gary then eh?”

 

“That bad is it?”

 

“Don't get me wrong, I like Kerry, really I do, but I get the idea she's just filling time with him until something sorry, _someone_ better comes along.”

 

“But it was her idea they got a place together!”

 

“I know but, you have to be there Luke, she treats him like a little kid, bossing him around, has him doing the vacuuming an' that.  Doesn't want to let him watch the footy, won't let him smoke in the flat, loads of little stuff like that.”

 

“If he moved in with me I wouldn't let him smoke either.”

 

“But it's their flat isn't it? Not hers that he's staying in.  Theirs.  That should be different shouldn't it?”

 

“I suppose.”

 

“She's organised this birthday party for him tomorrow though, so what do I know?”

 

“Why _has_ she done that?  It's not as if he's going to be 21 or anything...”

 

Cass thinks for a moment.  “Something about him never having had a birthday party when he was a kid or something.  Apparently his dad was a right tosser who liked to spend the week between Christmas and New Year smashed out of his skull.”  The door behind Luke swings silently open at that moment and Cass breaks off, snatching up some folders to make herself look busy.   Luke straightens up quickly, he knows who it's going to be: Craig, sneaking around in seek and destroy mode.

 

“ _Constable_ Ashton, shouldn't you be busy somewhere else?”

 

“Just leaving Sarge.”

 

“Off you go then.” Craig steps further into the room, indicating the open doorway.  “Cass, if I could have a moment of your time please?”

 

...

 

Even though no-one's any closer to solving the mystery of her phone calls and she had been showing signs of going stir crazy earlier that morning Kerry has to agree with Robbie that Cass's mood is much brighter after Sergeant Gilmore has spoken to her.  Which was kind of curious in itself as _he'd_ definitely appeared to have been on the warpath after a minor altercation he'd had with Matthew Boyden over some misplaced time sheets had escalated to dramatic proportions.

 

...

 

Unbeknownst to the two warring sergeants the real drama was to unfold gradually throughout that afternoon. Starting with the arrival in the yard of Gemma Osborne's little red sports car containing one of the prime suspects in the armed robbery of Pritchards Department Store and culminating in a muddled hostage situation which had culminated with the gang's boss – a certain Marilyn Costello - taking a pot shot at Gina.

 

...

 

Craig's standing by the window, seemingly engrossed in watching one of the neighbourhood cats stalking a hedgehog when Luke finally arrives back at Formosa Gardens that evening.  He's a little surprised when he's grabbed by the shoulder and spun round so Luke can plant a bunch of flowers in his hand and a kiss on his cheek. 

 

“Thanks.”

 

“You're welcome.” Craig returns the kiss as best he can with an armful of carnations.   “What for exactly?”

 

“Just for being, you know, 'you' and not making me feel like a visitor when I'm here.”

 

“What's brought this on?”

 

“Cass was telling me all is not entirely blissful in the Best/Young household.”

 

“Oh right.” says Craig looking a bit less cheerful.  “I'd better get these in some water straight away hadn't I?”

 

“Their problems are nothing to do with you.  What are you looking so gloomy for all of a sudden?”

 

“Ah - nothing.”

 

“Craig!”

 

“What?”

 

“What's the matter?”

 

“Nothing except that I don't really like it when running the relief gets turned into some sort of soap opera.  'Please Sarge?'” He whines, ”'Do I have to work with _bleep_ today?  He wouldn't have sex with me last night and I don't want to speak to him today.'” Oh damn that was crass, what a stupid thing to say... He pats Luke's arm.  “Sorry love.  This is why -” He stops short and marches off to the kitchen, rapidly.

 

Luke trots after him.  “Why people who work together shouldn't get involved,” he finishes for him. “That's what you were going to say isn't it?”

 

“I was,” says Craig, ripping the cellophane from the stems while he fills the sink with water,  ”just thinking about how well their relationship seemed to be turning out.”

 

“Because?” asks Luke.

 

Craig plunges the flowers roughly into the sink without saying a word, and bends to the cupboard for a vase, bumping his head on the edge of the draining board as he does so - he swears under his breath, rattling through the contents with one hand, while rubbing his head with the other.

 

Puzzled, Luke watches Craig's uncharacteristically flustered movements for a while before it dawns on him what the problem might be.

 

“Oh!”

 

“Yeah, daft aren't I?” mutters Craig straightening up.

 

“Ask me anyway.” says Luke stepping closer, rubbing one hand reassuringly down Craig's broad back.  “We're not them, we're nothing like them.  I already think of this place as home, you know that, and I'm here nearly every night now as it is.”

 

“Really?” Craig asks hopefully turning round, to find Luke beaming at him.  “I wasn't sure if you'd want -”

 

“Will you stop flaffing about and ask me already so I can say yes!” orders Luke.

 

“Luke Ashton,” begins Craig formally, “would you like to mo-”

 

“Yes.” says Luke, throwing his arms delightedly around Craig's neck, “Wild horses couldn't stop me - I'd love to move in with you.”

 

Craig squeezes Luke so tightly round the middle that his feet leave the ground.  Luke's heart is hammering wildly in his chest - so hard that Craig can feel it against his own ribs.  It is still pounding as Luke unwinds himself from their embrace.

 

“BUT,” says Craig.

 

“But nothing.” replies Luke, his eyes shining brightly in his flushed face..

 

“Not even a 'What the hell am I going to tell my mother?'” asks Craig gently.

 

“Oh that,” Luke looks down at his feet.  “I don't really have to tell her anything do I?” He looks up pleadingly.  “About us I mean?  She hasn't shown much interest so far has she?  I mean...”

 

Craig has Luke by the shoulders, watching him curiously. “Yes?”

 

“Well I'm a grown man.  She never asks me where I am or who I'm with at all.”

 

“Not even at Christmas?  You spent all day with her and she didn't ask you _anything_?”

 

“Er no, not really.  Well you know - about work and how I am and everything but not about who I'm seeing.”

 

“And you didn't find that at all strange?”

 

“Well I've never really taken girls home...”

 

“Luke!”

 

“What?”

 

“You're twenty four years old, she's hardly likely to think you're celibate is she?”

 

“Maybe she thinks my private life is just that - Private.”  Luke says defensively.

 

“Maybe,” says Craig, “Or maybe she's waiting.”

 

“For?”

 

“Don't be daft!  For you to tell her so she doesn't have to ask.”

 

 

**Chapter 11**

 

Cass pauses outside the slightly open door to the briefing room, not wanting to interrupt just yet.  Through the window she watches ADI Samantha Nixon attaching the crime scene photographs of what had possibly been, before an obviously brutal attack, an attractive blonde haired girl to the board in front of her.

 

“Now, we're not certain yet if this latest body is anything to do with our serial killer.” Samantha remarks, keeping one last photograph in her hands. “She was fished out of the river on Boxing Day.  All the trademarks are there: the hair cutting; the meticulous cleaning: so we will be treating this woman as the sixth victim for now.”  She points at the display.  “Now this vicious defacing of the face and body - which unlike the cut on one of the previous victims definitely occurred _before_ the time of death according to the coroner - is a new aspect. Don't forget - Miriam Wray was the third victim but the first to have her hair cut off,” Samantha smiles at Duncan when he clears his throat to catch her attention. 

 

“Yes.  What is it?”  

 

“I was just wondering - does she have a name yet?” The dark haired Scotsman asks.

 

“I was just coming to that - we think her name is Mary Hart - they've sent us this photo down from Missing Persons – we're just awaiting confirmation.  This,” she adds the last picture, “is what she looked like before... Now, her employers reported her missing just before Christmas after she failed to turn up for work for several days.  Her parents were expecting her home for the Holidays - she didn't turn up.  None of her friends know where she is.  If it is Mary she came down from Manchester in October to work-”

 

“At the Canley Evening News,” stutters Cass to herself, he colour drains from her face as she walks rapidly away down the corridor, still clutching the papers that had been meant for Samantha Nixon desperately in her hand.

 

....

 

In the ladies' loos, fat teardrops roll down Cass's face as she tries, unsuccessfully, to talk coherently to Kerry whilst whooping in great gulps of air.  “It's that girl...  Simon... dinner with her... Someone from work... You saw them... I..., I...”

 

Blow your nose,” says Kerry, thrusting a wodge of tissues into her distraught colleague's hand. “I'm going to find Sergeant Gilmore.”

 

...

 

Having finished the briefing upstairs Samantha Nixon has come down to Gina Gold's office.  Despite - or maybe because of - the great difference in their ages and experiences, hashing things over with the straight speaking Inspector has proved to be of benefit before.

 

ADI Nixon's frowning in concentration as she talks.  “This Mary has no connection with the courts: she was just a glorified gopher at a grotty local paper trying to get a foot on the ladder.  She hasn't written anything more exciting than four lines on the primary school Nativity play.”

 

“So, not the sixth victim then?”

 

“No I'm pretty sure she is. I know I'm not supposed to act on instinct but—” Samantha slumps back into her chair.

 

“Look where your precious 'profiling' got you with Baxter!  As soon as you let yourself go with your gut, you knew you were wrong...”

 

Samantha leans forwards placing her hands Gina's desk.  “All the other things are there, the white spirit, the hair being hacked off, the river, it ALL fits.”

 

“So surely what you need to be asking yourself is what's changed?  Did she fight back?  Something like that,” says Gina.

 

“It doesn't appear so.” Samantha gets up and starts prowling to and fro.  “There were no defensive injuries as far as they could tell.  But the body was such a mess who knows?”

 

“So was the murderer mad about something else?  Was he having a really crap Christmas?  Was the thought of all the family and friends being round just too much for him to bear?” suggests Gina.

 

Samantha slows to a halt. “You're kidding?”

 

“I'm not.  You go away and think about it.”

 

“If she is the sixth victim, you're right.  Something must have happened that's frustrated the hell out of him.  You know -” she snaps her mouth shut.

 

“Yes?” prompts Gina.

 

“It could be something as simple as he took the wrong girl.” She shrugs.  “Who knows?  Thanks Gina, talking with you helps a lot.”

 

There is a peremptory rap at the door then Craig appears through it with an anxious expression on his face.  It's not a look Gina has seen him wearing for several months now and it doesn't suit him.  Finding ADI Nixon standing right in front of him, he addresses himself to her.

 

“Excuse me ma'am, I think there's something you should know.”

 

...

 

 

“So - Kitson then?” Somehow Gina manages to make it not sound like a question.

 

“It has to be really don't you think?”

 

“So did he have contact with all the victims then?” asks Craig looking at Nixon – wishing she would stand still.

 

“He certainly knew Tina Pope. He- OH god! He was rubbing my nose in it!  That's classic behaviour that is.  He came to me with that information about the web site... He wanted to see for himself how clever he was being –  watch us scuttling round searching for the killer.  I was beginning to think that I might actually have to seriously consider the possibility of it being one of us.”

 

“Someone from the station!” snorts Craig.

 

“Ridiculous I know!  But all the previous victims had connections to Sun Hill and the courts.  This Mary girl hadn’t ever got so much as a parking ticket.”

 

“Miriam Wray hadn't been in trouble with us she was the victim.” Gina points out.

 

“But there was still that connection!  As a reporter Kitson can go anywhere - he's probably met all of them.  And he was always snooping about the station.”

 

“He is – _was_ going out with Cass,” comments Gina.

 

Nixon pounces on the information.  “Maybe that's what changed!”

 

“I'm not sure I'm with you,” frowns Craig.

 

“People get mad when they're dumped don't they?  Possibly Mary was his way of getting even.”

 

..

 

Robbie leans out over the front desk as Kerry walks through reception with Luke later that morning. 

 

“They've brought Simon Kitson into Custody have you heard?”

 

Kerry moves closer, nodding.  “He's got the remains of a right shiner, did you see?”

 

“Maybe that's why she was so... you know...badly beaten.” suggests Luke, wondering how many of the gory details Robbie can handle.

 

“Maybe,” agrees Robbie knowingly, popping a purple lolly into her mouth.

 

...

 

Just for once, muses Gina Gold looking at Cass standing hesitantly in her doorway, it would be nice if she could get a celebratory drink as far as the glass before one of her relief poops the party.

 

“Ma'am.  It couldn't have been Simon ma'am.”

 

“Calm down Cass.  I know you don't want it to be -” 

 

“No you don't understand!” Cass steps sideways to reveal a mutinous looking Nick Klein behind her.

 

“I don't believe I'm doing this...” he mutters darkly.

 

“Just Tell the Inspector will ya?”

 

He takes a deep breath; if he's going to have to say it at all, it'll be best to do it in one go.  “It couldn't have been Kitson ma'am, because the night the victim was seen getting into a car in Sun Hill...” He falters it's going to be the end of his career he's sure of it. “Because _that_ night – the twentieth - Cass and I were at a club up West and he was there.”

 

“You were together?” Gina gestures with the bottle she is still holding in her hand, from one to the other and back again.

 

“Yes ma'am,” confirms Nick.

 

“And you _both_ saw him?”

 

“Yes ma'am,” they chorus.

 

“Well what time was it? Are you quite sure he wouldn't have had time to get back here?”

 

“It couldn't have happened ma'am,” affirms Nick.

 

“You see ma'am,” starts Cass.

 

Gina cuts her off with a sour look.  “PC Klein? Explain!”

 

“We - ah - got into a bit of a  - discussion like.”

 

“Heated exchange was it?”

 

“Something like that ma'am.” He shuffles his feet guiltily.

 

“You're the one who gave him that black eye!”

 

“I - Yes.”

 

Gina has to give him some credit: Nick always manages to look her square in the face.  “I've had to warn you about this sort of behaviour before haven't I?”

 

“Sorry ma'am.”

 

She grinds her barely started cigarette into the ashtray.  “I think we need to take this up to CID don't you?”

 

...

 

“So let's get this straight, you gave Simon Kitson a black eye some time about eleven thirty...” Sam Nixon's pacing the floor in front of her desk.  “What's to stop him coming back to Sun Hill and taking his temper out on this poor girl?”

 

“Cass thought I'd broken his nose -”

 

“So he'd have been in a lot of pain then.  You made him mad.  Belittled him.” She's thinking aloud.

 

“Cass had her taxi drop us off at the Emergency room at St Sebastian's on her way home.  We were there all night.”

 

“All night?”

 

“Yeah, we arrived a little after midnight; he finally got seen about three and a half hours later; then we left about 5am.  I dropped him off and then went home myself.  It couldn't have been him.”

 

“And you stayed with him all that time?”

 

“I didn't want to.”

 

“So why did you then?  Was it just to make sure he wouldn't press charges?”

 

“He wasn't likely to do that anyway was he?  Not if he's the one that's stalking her!” says Nick bitterly.

 

“But you thought you'd stick with him just in case.”

 

He can't deny it.

 

She waves a hand at him dismissively.  “Vanish Nick; I'm sure inspector Gold will be speaking to you about it later.”

 

...

 

“So let's get this straight,” says Luke pulling his uniform jumper off over his head and bunging it in his locker. “Kitson's being charged with stalking Cass right?”

 

“Yes,” says Tony jovially, “So that's one less pervert on the streets of Sun Hill tonight.  Happy New Year to us all.”

 

“But there's no real evidence...”

 

“They've got me an' Cass as witnesses don't they?” snarls Nick pulling on a clean t-shirt.  “He's been following her around for weeks now.  He even rescued her from that Shane geezer didn't he?  It's obvious innit?  He's obsessed.”

 

“I suppose,” agrees Luke, reaching inside his locker for his towel.

 

“Have you 'eard?” puts in Gary excitedly. “He's insisting that he was only following her about to protect her! Who'd believe that eh?  What a nutter!”

 

...

 

Gina Gold is walking out of the front of the station with Samantha Nixon.

 

“So the hunt for the serial killer continues into next year then hey?”

 

“Yes,” Sam says tiredly, “Pity really – catching _him_ would have made a great end to the year wouldn't it?”

 

“Never mind I'm sure Cass is just very thankful she'll be able to start 2003 back in her own home.”   She smirks.  “Assuming that is she makes it home after an evening celebrating at the 'Roundhead'.”

 

...

 

“You know,” confides Robbie, pausing in the doorway of the front office to pull on her coat, “I think their parents must have been related or something.”

 

“Sorry – What?” says Kerry.

 

“The Kitsons   - he's obviously a nutcase and _she -”_ Robbie jerks her head towards where Pat is sitting by the main doors.  “Gives me the willies – staring at me all the time.  She's been camped out there all afternoon demanding to know what's going on.”

 

...

 

Luke is standing at the bar feeling a little out of things when he hears a familiar rich voice behind him saying, “Put your coat on, you've pulled.”

 

“Sarge!” Luke jumps nervously, looking about him to check who might have heard.  “I thought I heard Kerry say you weren't coming.”

 

“I had a last minute change of mind.”

 

“Can I get you a drink?”

 

“I'll get them in – same again is it?” Craig glances along the bar. “And you Reg? Anything I can get for you?”

 

“No thanks Sarge, I'm alright for now as it happens.” Reg waits till Craig has ambled away towards the bartender, before getting up.  He pauses beside Luke.  “Don't worry about him saying that will you Luke?” he says, “He doesn't mean anything by it.  It's just his way – he said it to me once.” And he claps Luke awkwardly on the shoulder, smiling a little crookedly as he wanders off in search of Des.

 

The best thing about noisy parties in pub basements is the fact that everyone has to buddy up just to hear what another person is saying.  So Craig and Luke sitting chatting with their heads close together,  elbows propped against the bar, looking out over the action going on around them, raise no more eyebrows than June Ackland and Tony Stamp huddled in conversation at a 'quiet' corner table. Less in fact after a stinging slap, that resounds like a whip-crack, lands across Tony's face during one of the intensely quiet silences that sometimes fall as one record track fades into another.

 

Gemma sashays her way over to them, a large pink cocktail - complete with umbrellas and a straw, in her hand.  “You two having fun yet?”

 

“Only here for the beer,” offers Luke waving his pint at her.

 

She bats her eyelashes.  “Don't give me that.  I've seen some of your moves remember?  Come an' dance wi' me?” 

 

Luke shakes his head as she tugs at his hand.  “You're tipsy.”

 

“Ooo,” she giggles, “that's a pretty way of putting it.”

 

“Go on Luke.” says Craig, deftly relieving them both of their drinks.  “I'll look after these for you.”

 

“Don't worry Sarge,” Gemma says a little too loudly, “I'll bring him back untouched.” She adds an exaggerated wink for good measure.

 

It's good to watch Luke dancing, Craig decides, made even better by the knowledge that, even though he can't touch him now, _he'll_ be the one who's taking him home tonight: soft bleached jeans that stay sculpted to his thighs as he moves, crisp white cotton shirt falling undone over a tight little muscle vest, that (later on this evening) will stretch as he tugs it up slowly - just enough to make it interesting when it gives finally - allowing him to run his hands over the firm flat -. His train of thought is rudely interrupted by the voice of his immediate superior, rasping in his ear. 

 

“You'd have thought – after the stress of spending last few days working undercover in my _dear_ old mate Marilyn Costello's club - that somewhere like this is the last place Gemma would want to be wouldn't you?

 

Craig looks up startled – despite the fact she'd obviously felt fit enough to come to work that morning  – he'd have thought that after a gruelling shift she might have been grateful for a quiet evening in.  “The same could be said of you ma'am.”

 

“Oh _please_ Craig we're not in the station now, call me Gina.  I think I deserve a few large ones after being shot at don't you?”

 

“Point taken ma'-” He manages to stop himself saying it.  “Gina,” he finishes, taking a pull on his pint.

 

“Does she know yet?”

 

Craig lowers his glass to his lap.  “I beg your pardon?”

 

“Gemma.  That girl your fella's dancing with, has she realised he's gay yet?”

 

Craig bridles at the accusation.  When he turns to confront her however, there's a softness in her gaze that he's never noticed pointed in his direction before.  His shoulders sag.  “How long have you known?”

 

“Well -” She hitches herself onto Luke's recently vacated barstool.  “I've known you had it bad for him one helluva lot longer than I've known he feels exactly the same way about you.  So maybe I'm slipping.”

 

“You're not.  He's hard to read.”

 

“So Gemma doesn't know then?” Gina's eyes search his face.

 

“She hasn't said anything - but then again neither have you before now.”

 

“Right.  I thought -” Gina shakes a cigarette out of the packet that has appeared, as if by magic, in her hand – ignoring Craig's disgusted stare.

 

“You thought that just because she's a lesbian she'd automatically be able to tell.” Craig says drily.

 

“Something like that.” She fumbles in her handbag for her cigarette lighter.

 

“I won't say gaydar is a myth because it isn't - but it isn't infallible either.”

 

“Sorry.” As the first whisps of smoke curl slowly upwards from the end of her cigarette Gina pushes the lighter back into the hidden depths of her handbag.

 

“So - what are you going to do about us?” He asks flatly.

 

“Me?” Her eyes stretch wide in apparent astonishment.  That he would bother to ask such a question she finds slightly insulting – after all he's known her long enough to have realised by now that she never fires a warning shot.  “Absolutely nothing.  It has nothing to do with me.  Unless,” she pokes his chest with one stubby finger, “it interferes with the  running of _my_ relief.  Up until now I can only see that your relationship has had a positive effect on both of you.” She drains her glass and stands up.  “Right, now we've got that over with... You can come and dance with me.”

 

“I don't do that.”

 

“You're a poof aren't you?” She fixes him with a hard stare (unlike the ones she uses at work this one has a huge dollop of mischief in it).  “Come on Craig, you can't sit here like a wallflower all evening.  There's no need to let the youngsters have all the fun.”

 

Well it could be worse he thinks as he lets her manhandle him onto the edge of the dance floor.  June Ackland's dancing with Jim Carver now, and Kerry Young would appear to be having slightly too good a time with Nick as a partner: he wouldn't want to be in either of _their_ shoes tomorrow. 

 

Gina pulls a face when she notices them.  “What is it about a party that makes people's hormones go into overdrive?” she asks disgustedly.

 

“I have absolutely NO idea,” he lies solidly - gazing over her shoulder towards Luke.

 

When the music changes to a slow tune, about a dozen dancers migrate rapidly off the floor looking a little awkward: Gina and Craig; and Luke and Gemma amongst them.  Making it back to the bar before the others Craig watches their progress towards them as Gina orders herself a large double.

 

Craig leans himself against the counter beside her.  “He's not 'out' you know _,_ ” he says, nodding at the approaching couple, “so I'd appreciate it if you don't say anything to him about -”

 

Gina pats his hand.  “Don't worry about me; I'll be the very soul of discretion.” Grinning she raises the fresh scotch to her lips.

 

“As you're in such a good mood...” he starts.

 

Her glass pauses on the way back down.  “Yes?”

 

“You won't take offence if I suggest you leave the party a little early will you?” He fixes her with one of his own stares.

 

“Oh won't I?”

 

“Gina!”

 

“Do I want to hear a reason 'Why'?”

 

Craig's attention focuses momentarily on the dance floor where a barely moving Matt Boyden has his arms firmly locked around the arms of a leggy, young blonde wearing a skirt so short that it deserves to be fitted with its own built-in knickers.  He looks away hurriedly.  “Er no, I don't think so.”

 

“But you'll tell me anyway?” she pursues.

 

“I shan't.  But don't worry - you'll find out.  I promise.”

 

Gina raises an eyebrow.  “Any particular time you had in mind?” 

 

“I think in about half an hour would probably be fine.  Thank you ma'am.”

 

Luke waits till Gina has moved well out of earshot and Gemma is involved in ordering their next round of drinks before he speaks. “What were you thanking her for?”

 

“Nothing much, just her assistance in a little covert operation I have planned.  Thanks Gemma.” Craig raises his half to his lips and takes a sip.

 

Gemma takes a big mouthful of green liquid. “Cass found some really good stuff Sarge.” she says knowingly.

 

Craig raises a finger to his lips.  “Not in here.”

 

Gemma giggles delightedly, ”Shall we ask Luke?”

 

“I was just about to-”

 

“Ask me what?” Luke sounds exasperated.

 

“It _was_ going to be a little pick me up for Cass,” explains Craig, “something I thought would help take her mind off her circumstances.  _Now_ I think it's going to be rather more like a celebration.” He turns his attention to Gemma.  “Can you round up some more volunteers for me?”

 

“For what?” Luke howls.

 

“Excuse me for a moment would you both?  Gemma – you can fill Luke in while I'm gone.” Craig walks off, heading slowly towards the toilets.

 

“I do beg your pardon,” he stammers as he collides with the Boyden's bimbo in the narrow passageway. “Half an hour,” he adds under his breath and gets a small nod in reply.

 

“'sokay.” she says mildly, avoiding eye contact as she keeps on walking.

 

...

 

The door leading from the upstairs bar swings open to reveal Gary and Kerry arguing fiercely but mutedly: she's carrying a large square cake lavishly iced in dark blue and white which she had mistakenly thought were Manchester United's colours.  Gary had discovered her trying to get it downstairs without him knowing, after following her as she'd sneaked away from the party ten minutes earlier.  She's been trying to explain about the icing, but unfortunately Gary is currently in no mood to listen and really can't understand how she couldn't know that they are actually the colours of Tottenham, Nick's team.

 

“And that's another thing – Why does he always 'ave to be hanging round hey?” he squeaks, jerking his head towards where Cass and Nick can be seen deep in conversation with Gemma.

 

“He's Cass's friend.”

 

“Yeah but _she_ aint slept wiv 'im 'as she?”

 

“I've never slept with him either,” Kerry hisses truthfully.

 

“No I know yer 'aven't but you have screwed him haven' yer?”

 

Kerry rolls her eyes.  “Why don't you just come out and say it Gary?”

 

“Alright I will!  Are you having an affair wiv Nick?”

 

“No!  I don't know how you could think that.”

 

“You were just draped all over him!”

 

As the volume gets louder eyes begin to swivel in their direction.

 

“We were dancing that's all.”

 

“You're all jokey an' smiley when he comes round the flat.” Gary pouts.  “ _He_ gets to watch the footy.”

 

“Because he's our guest!  That's just polite!”

 

“Well mebbe you should try bein' a bit more polite to me in future.  Instead of nagging and moaning all the time.”

 

“I don't nag!” screeches Kerry.

 

“Gary pick up your socks, Gary put the lid on the toothpaste,” he trills in a fair imitation of her.

 

“It's not my fault your mother didn't bring you up to be tidy.”

 

“Don't bring my mother into this!” Gary squawks.

 

“Your right! It's probly not her fault at all that you're a slob!”

 

“At least I had one!”  Gary fires off without thinking.

 

The cake hits the floor, splitting open to reveal its cheap synthetic cream and thin raspberry jam filling, as, for the second time that evening, the sound of a face being slapped fills the air.

 

...

 

“I love a good bust up don't you?” Des announces to no-one in particular, rubbing his hands together.

 

“Des!” chastises Luke.

 

“Not particularly, no. Sorry,” says Cass in a small voice 

 

“Sorry Cass, babe, I wasn' thinking...” Des trails off.

 

“Typical.” accuses Nick, putting his arm round his best friend's shoulders.

 

“So where's Gilmore?” asks Des.  “And what are we gonna do to him when we've got him?”

 

A dark shadow detaches itself from the wall.

 

“I think you must have mis-heard something Des.”  Craig says calmly before turning to the others.  “What took you so long?”

 

“We couldn't get out Sarge.” Gemma says with a smirk.  “Gary and Kerry were having a bit of a barney on the stairs; we couldn't leave until Nick had broken them up!”

 

“Gemma!” hisses Robbie.  “What she means, Sarge, is until the fight they were having was over.”

 

“I think you'll find it was allover the second she slapped him. But only after Gary accused _her_ of sleeping with _him_.” Des points to Nick.

 

“We've never slept together,” Nick remonstrates.

 

“Technically,” adds Cass.

 

Craig sighs.  “Let's get on with this shall we?” He leads them down the side of the building towards the car park at the rear. “Gemma's friend from Traffic has him over by her car saying an extended 'goodnight' andI don't think she can hold him off much longer.”

 

“On with what exactly?” says Des.

 

Craig raises an eyebrow. “You still here Des? I'd have thought you'd have buggered off by now,” he says straight-faced.

 

Des curls his lip, looking Craig up and down in the dim light.  “You know me Sarge, equal opportunities an' all that.  So - on with what exactly?”

 

“Celebrating,” smiles Craig.

“Payback,” grins Cass at exactly the same moment.

 

_..._

_“You lousy bloody poof Gilmore!”_ screeches an already distinctly chilly Mathew Boyden who is growing colder by the minute.

 

“Very nice,” crows Robbie standing in front of him.  “Who'd have guessed it could look that good at your age!”

 

“ _Wait till I get hold of you!_ ”

 

“Be a good boy Matt and we might send someone back to let you out before midnight,” coos Craig into his victim's ear, patting him on his bare behind.

 

“Are you sure those pinky fluffy handcuffs will hold?” asks Des, “They look a bit flimsy to me!”

 

“Well,” splutters Luke, “even if _they_ don't those leg iron things won't let him hobble far will they?”

 

“You're never going to put that on him as well are you?” asks Nick incredulously, looking at the red curly 'Ronald MacDonald' wig in Cass's hand.

 

“Yeah course,” Cass says brightly, “And then Gemma's going to take a nice photo for the album aren't you darlin'?”

 

Gemma is standing rather drunkenly twirling what looks like it might be some sort of velvet hood in her hand. “Am I?” she slurs.

 

Craig puts one arm round her waist adroitly removing the offending article from her grasp with his free hand.  “You my love, are rather the worse for wear aren't you?” he says kindly. “Let's get Robbie to take you back inside hey – and phone for a taxi.” He looks over to where Robbie is still admiring their handiwork at the bottom of the fire escape.  “Robbie!”

 

 

 

“ _Bastards_!” snarls Boyden over his shoulder when he sees the camera in Luke's hand.

 

“Language Sarge really!” tuts Nick as the last of them walk back towards the front of the pub together.

 

“And where did that bird he was with disappear to anyway?” asks Des of no-one in particular.

 

 

 

The birthday party is officially over more than half an hour before the allotted time.

Kerry is standing at the pub's entrance forlornly waving goodbye to a mini cab that has just pulled away while several  small clusters of party-goers are to be seen weaving their way between the cars that have been parked inconsiderately along the pavement.   When Kerry sees Cass and the others walking towards her she bursts into tears.  “I thought you'd gone away and left me as well,” she hiccoughs, wiping at her nose with the back of her wrist.  “Robbie and Gemma got straight into a taxi with Jim and June – they didn't even bother to say goodbye!” she sobs noisily, “And Gary's gone storming off with that shrew of a sister of his!”  She throws her arms round Cass's neck - clinging tightly - as Nick, Luke and Craig stand helplessly looking on.  It's fairly obvious to each one of them that she's spent the time they were otherwise engaged rapidly drinking herself wretched.

 

Des totally ignores her as he hurries his way back inside, only pausing as he's actually stepping through the door.  “Nick? You coming back in or what?”

 

“In a minute.”  Nick hunches his shoulders - glaring cynically at Kerry as he addresses himself to Cass, “Well -  that's our evening blown then isn't it?”

 

“I can't leave her like this can I?”

 

“I suppose not,” he says miserably avoiding looking at Craig or Luke.

 

“I'm sorry Nick,” stammers Kerry.  A large splodge of mascara detaches itself from her eyelashes and she scrubs at it with her finger - smudging it blackly across her cheek.  “I didn't mean for this to happen.”

 

“We know.” Cass pats Kerry's back.  “Don't we Nick!” she adds pointedly.

 

Nick rolls his eyes.  “I suppose...”

 

“Can we go home?” moans Kerry, “I don' wanna be here.”

 

“Course.” Cass gives her a comforting squeeze.  “Nick, get us a cab will ya?”

 

“We had one booked for eleven – why don't we just wait for that?”

 

“Be nice!” scowls Cass.

 

“It will take ages though -” Nick points out.  “Okay, okay,” he mutters when Cass continues to scowl.

 

Craig clears his throat, self-consciously fingering the small keys in his pocket. “So Nick – as it looks like you're going to be here for a bit – would you do me a favour and let Sergeant Boyden out in a little while?”

 

“Must I?”

 

Craig dangles the keys enticingly in front of Nick's nose.  “ _Somebody's_ got to do it... and whoever it is he'll owe them a favour won't he?”

 

Nick snatches the keys, grinning devilishly.  “Okay then.”

 

“Right” Craig says decisively, “I'll be off then!  Night everyone.” He turns to the young man standing beside him as if only just remembering he's there.  “What about you Luke?  Are you staying here to welcome in the New Year?”

 

“Er no Sarge.”  Luke shifts a little apprehensively – unable to meet Craig's gaze.  “I should probably be making a move too.”

 

“I'm going that way,” offers Craig, pointing along the road.

 

...

 

Nick ducks into the pub to arrange for a cab - leaving the girls to watch Craig and Luke disappear off into the night together: Kerry is still sniffing theatrically.  Inside he finds that quite a number of Kerry's guests from the basement have decided to migrate upstairs to the saloon bar and join the pub's regulars in preparing to raise - not so much 'a glass' to the New Year for most of them - more like a large tankard.  He makes his way crab-wise round clusters of happily inebriated revellers to the free phone near the cigarette machine on the far wall – thus managing to avoid roughly half of the ribald comments that are flung in his direction.

 

When he comes back out of the pub he is thoughtfully rolling the keys Craig had given him between his fingers.  “There'll be one along it a minute,” he tells Cass, tossing the small, cheap bits of metal into the air and catching them deftly. “Right – I won't be long – I'll just go and free the prisoner.”

 

...

 

Craig and Luke have walked for possibly thirty or forty yards before Luke pauses - peering back over his shoulder to check they are unobserved – he hesitates for a moment when he sees someone climbing from one of the parked cars they have just passed before he realises she is heading in the opposite direction and slips his arm through Craig's – who promptly traps it in place.

 

“Feeling brave tonight then?” Craig asks as they continue on their journey.

 

Luke inhales deeply, looking around him at the very ordinary – in fact slightly dingy – backstreet they are travelling down: everything seems to have become brighter, sharper and clearer somehow since they left the pub.  Even the tiny fibres of Craig's jacket beneath his fingers are telegraphing frissons of pleasure along his arm to the back of his neck.  He licks his parched lips.  “It might just be the adrenaline – but right now I feel like anything's possible.” 

 

...

 

Cass looks down at the disgusting damp patch that Kerry's tears have left in the floaty pink scarf she is wearing looped round her throat.  Even in the totally inadequate lighting she can see a livid mascara stain smeared onto the gauzy fabric and -.  “Oh balls!” she mutters under her breath, tucking her hair behind her ears as she looks vainly down at the ground around them. 

 

Kerry peers damply in her direction, “Wassup?”

 

“Nothing much!” snaps Cass, “I've only gone and lost it haven't I?

 

“Los' wha'?” Kerry slurs.

 

“The pendant Nick gave me for Christmas/Hannuka/whatever - it must have come undone – I'll have to go and look for it.” Cass props Kerry safely up against the wall.  “You'll be okay here for a bit, won't you? I'll be back in a minute – shout if the taxi comes yeah?” She walks slowly away, head down - scanning the path beneath her feet intently as she goes.

 

...

 

“Like what?” Craig asks softly, slowing his pace a little.

 

“Like I could fly to the moon; score the winning goal for Arsenal; go ten rounds with Mike Tyson.” Luke brings them to a halt in a halo of light spilt onto the pavement.  “Hold you like this,” he says, sliding his arms inside  Craig's open jacket – tilting his face up as he draws the taller man towards him, “and kiss you right here in the street.”

 

...

 

The air is rent by a sudden scream.

 

...

 

Craig and Luke take one look at each other before turning on their heels and pelting back towards the pub and the origin of the disturbance.  Luke reaches the building first having sprinted ahead and passes Kerry as  she stumbles her way towards the same shadowy pathway Craig had hidden in earlier.  He slows to a walk - his heart pounding in his chest: ahead of him in the darkness he can hear the sounds of frantic scuffling.  He'd give anything to be in uniform right now – or even just to have a torch.

 

...

 

Cass's fingernails scrabble futilely at the brick work beside her - struggling for breath as she desperately tries to get her feet back under her – if she can just get upright she knows she'll stand a chance.  “Why must you make things so difficult!”  hisses Pat Kitson venomously - dragging her down the alley by her hair and that scarf.  “You're never alone.” She twists her hand viciously into Cass's hair pulling the makeshift noose tighter.  “Why are you never alone?”

 

“She's not alone now.” Comes a menacing voice from out of the darkness behind her.

 

...

 

It must be one of the strangest arrests he's ever witnessed thinks Craig when he arrives at the scene a short time later.  Luke and Nick are sitting on top of a furiously writhing Pat Kitson: who is screaming incoherently as she lies face down in the dirt whilst Matt Boyden endeavours to snap the novelty restraints Nick had only just liberated him from around her wrists as he cautions her. 

 

Craig draws the white-faced Cass towards him, shrugging himself out of his coat he places it round her shoulders – not bothering to tuck her arms down the sleeves before buttoning her into it.  She can't seem stop her teeth from chattering though – shock must be setting in he thinks. 

 

“Thanks Sarge,” she manages in a small voice - still unable to drag her eyes away from the tableau being enacted before her.

 

Craig takes his mobile from his trouser pocket and, gathering Cass to him, summons assistance with her face buried against his chest as Kerry finally lurches round the corner.

 

...

“Do you think she'll be okay?”  Luke asks Craig as the last of the emergency vehicles disappear round the corner at the far end of the street.  The small gaggle of onlookers who had gathered to enjoy the spectacle is already dispersing back inside, leaving them to their own devices.

 

“I hope so – she seemed to be in shock more than anything.  Are you sure you shouldn't have gone in that ambulance?”

 

“No really I'm fine – just a few bumps and bruises that's all.  It's Matt and Nick I feel sorry for – you wouldn't believe how strong she was.  When I got there,” Luke flexes his fingers and winces, “Nick was picking himself up off the floor and she had her hands wrapped round Boyden's throat.  It took both of us just to drag her off him.”

 

“You're sure you're all right?”

 

“I'm fine.”

 

“So- what next?”

 

“What time is it?”

 

“Time?” Craig looks at his watch.  “Twenty past eleven.”

 

“Still not next year yet then?”

 

“Not yet.”

 

“I,” begins Luke but is interrupted by their cab pulling up beside them at that moment. 

 

“You're going to have a right bruise there tomorrow.  I wish you'd held that ice pack on a bit longer,” Craig says tenderly when they're both safely inside, drawing his fingers gently down Luke's cheek, noting that he doesn't withdraw from the caress even though the cabbie is watching them interestedly as he waits to be given directions.  

 

“I was cold enough already.  I didn't need to be made any colder.” Luke pouts.

 

Craig is vaguely surprised to find Luke sidling closer to him when he leans back into the seat.  “Something the matter?” 

 

“You remember earlier...When we were out in the street?” Luke says quietly, laying his hand on Craig's thigh and leaving it there.

 

“Vividly,” Craig says, “You were a little wired after the Boyden escapade.”

 

“I was, kind of.“

 

“You still are aren't you?” Craig cuts in as the heat from Luke's hand scorches through the dark wool of his trousers.

 

“What?”

 

“Wired.”

 

“Definitely.”

 

“Still feel like anything's possible?”

 

Luke's hand leaves Craig's lap, as he glances uncertainly towards the driver (who has his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead) he can clearly see the glow of a clock set into the dashboard in front of him.

 

Craig raises one eyebrow. “So that's a no then I take it?” 

 

Luke's overbright eyes swivel back to Craig's face.  “Take me somewhere?” he begs.

 

“Where?”

 

“Anywhere we can be together!”

 

...

 

The bright yellow building looks warm and inviting when their taxi draws up outside it roughly ten minutes later.  As they approach the entrance Craig is slightly surprised not to see some sort of bouncer stationed outside.  However, as he allows Luke enter the building before him, an elegantly suited gentleman of powerful proportions and West African descent holds out a hand to stay their progress.  He casts an assessing eye over Luke before he speaks.

 

“I'm sorry, gentlemen, I really don't think we can accommodate you this evening.”

 

It is only now in the brighter light that Craig really notices just what a state Luke is in: apart from the bruising to his face, he has scratches on his neck and even though under his denim jeans jacket the shirt looks passably clean, the jacket itself is filthy and there is a rip in one elbow.  The bleached denim covering his legs that had so captivated Craig earlier could now more aptly be described as 'dirt washed' and Craig thinks that some of the darker splashes may well be blood from Nick's nose.  He bites his lip.

 

“Damn I'm sorry Luke – I didn't realise,” he stops speaking to watch the expression on Luke's face change as he confirms for himself that the rather ordinary looking, even if slightly more tastefully decorated and less raucous than usual, establishment Craig has brought him to _is_ actually a gay bar of some sort.  It's just like anywhere else except – the couples slow dancing on the tiny dance floor in front of the low stage and others kissing and holding hands at tables scattered all about the room are all man-man or woman-woman _._  And it rather seems to Luke that the very air in here is different somehow.

 

Craig's hand automatically reaches for his wallet and his warrant card before his thinking brain takes over.  He assumes his least threatening demeanour.  “I know the owner – if I could possibly speak to him for a moment?”

 

The man doesn't give an inch.  “Name?”

 

“Gilmore – Craig Gilmore.”

 

“And of the owner?”  the man of steel rumbles.

 

“Jonathon,” Craig says, smiling warmly past the man's shoulder towards the statuesque blonde who has stepped out of the spotlight and off the stage having finished her set and is now heading towards them.

 

 

 

Jonathon runs a critical eye over Craig's outfit of charcoal trousers and shirt of the same colour, run through with faint blue stripes. “Now then you'll do,” he says before turning to Luke.  “But you my dear need a good wash and brush up and some clean clothes before I can let _you_ in.  Now where is that?  Ah there.” Jonathon raises a hand in the air and waves to attract the attention of one of his staff.  “Patrick,” he says when the fair haired teenager comes hurrying over.  “I want you to take this gentleman here back to my private office: show him how to get hot water out of that bloody stupid heater so he can get cleaned up, and for gawd's sake find something decent for him to wear.  Think you can do all that?”

 

“Yes Jay.” Patrick nods, he grins shyly at Craig with recognition, then turns to Luke.  “We'll have to be quick I **have** to be back in the bar at midnight,”

 

 

Luke finds himself being hustled down a corridor by the boy, whose name he thinks is Patrick: but everything's so speeded up now he's not really sure.

 

The plain door in the breeze block wall swings open to reveal a cheap office desk topped with a small computer, shelves packed with neatly labelled box folders, and a scuffed, grey metal filing cabinet. 

 

Walking into the room Luke is totally unprepared for what lies beyond it: Patrick leads him through yet another door and Luke finds himself in a room that is as sumptuous as that which led to it is spartan. 

 

There is almost too much for him to take in: Tiffany style lamps in shades of red and orange stand on nearly every available surface.  Jewel coloured scarves are draped over several of them and the drab walls are barely visible behind a liberal rainbow coating of fans.  Under his feet a thick piled, busily patterned scarlet rug has been laid down over bright blue industrial strength carpet tiles, all but obliterating them.  Pushed against the right hand wall is a divan heaped with blankets, at the head of which, partially covered by an apparently carelessly thrown paisley shawl, is a large leather trunk of such age that it could have seen duty on one of the great passenger liners of the thirties.  An ash tray, and a small silver salver (carrying a half finished bottle of gin, some slimline tonic and two glasses) clutter the top.  Set across the space in front of them, is a folding screen finished in black lacquer adorned with red dragons that Patrick draws aside to reveal what is obviously the 'business' end of the room.

 

Shelves crammed full of a wigs, in a variety of different shapes, styles and colours; tiaras  and hats are ranged above a sturdy metal clothes' rail: which fights for floor space with a square shaped sink and more black lacquer, in the form of a tall, narrow wardrobe (which is  itself piled high with hat boxes) and a spindly legged dressing table which looks hardly strong enough to take the weight of the large amount of make-up that is strewn across it.  Hung from the rail are sequinned dresses and various other 'theatrical' costumes, along with a few shirts and some more formal, tailored menswear. 

 

“Over here.” Patrick turns the knob on the wall mounted heater in the corner all the way round clockwise until scalding water gushes forcefully into the basin then turns it gradually back down till the blue flame shrinks inside the viewing window.

 

Luke drags his gaze away from his reflection in an alarmingly well-lit mirror, sliding his eyes over the fascinating variety of potions littering the top of the dressing table below it and walks slowly across to join Patrick.

 

“There - you can put the plug in now.” Patrick opens the wardrobe and magics a wicker basket from its depths - eyeing the contents.  “There's some sandalwoody body wash or-” he wrinkles his nose as he reads the next label, “you won't want something that smells like patchouli will you?” He passes Luke a yellow tube embossed with gold lettering, pushes the basket back in and rummages some more. “And here's a towel you can use, but there doesn't seem to be a facecloth – sorry.”  He looks pointedly at the water running away down the sink before stuffing the plug into the hole himself. 

 

“You've not been in a place like this before have you?” he asks gently.

 

“I can honestly say I have never been in a room quite like this.  Ever.” Luke's a bit shell shocked.

 

Patrick smiles shyly. “I meant the Jester...”

 

“No, I've not been in a gay bar as nice as this either,” Luke agrees truthfully, neatly side stepping the issue.  Telling himself to get a grip, he hangs his jacket on a conveniently placed hook before undoing the buttons of his shirt and sliding it down his arms.

 

Patrick looks away.  ”I thought perhaps you'd never...” He trails off.  Glancing up  he finds Luke is scrutinising him intently, wrists crossed low on his stomach, his thumbs tucked under the edge of his vest.  Patrick blushes, ducking his head, “Sorry.”

 

“Why's that?” Luke asks quietly.

 

“You've got that thing...” Patrick fiddles with the silver band of the watch on his wrist nervously. The man in front of him must gay or he wouldn't be here with the nice policeman from before Christmas, because they are obviously an item, but there's a quality about him that Patrick doesn't come across very often.  “Like everything's new and scary and exciting.” He shrugs a little.

 

Luke isn't sure what he can say to that so he straightens his arms over his head, lifting his vest off in one fluid movement.

 

“You're bleeding!”  Patrick exclaims.

 

Luke bends his elbow and examines it in the tiny mirror stuck to the wall in front of him.  “It's only a graze  - the blood's dry already,” he says bending to the sink and lathering up his arms, “it'll wash off.” He addresses Patrick's reflection,  “Aren't you going to find me something to wear then?” he asks, pleased that he sounds more matter of fact than he feels.

 

...

 

“So, had someone had a go at you tonight then, before you arrived here, is that why you were such a mess?” puffs Patrick as they scamper back towards the bar.

 

“I was helping with an arrest,” Luke explains briefly, as the youngster pushes the door open ahead of them.  They thread their way through the crush of customers collecting at the bar as everyone tries to ensure they have a drink ready to toast in the New Year.

 

“So you're a copper then like the sergeant?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“That's cool,” Patrick says as the crowd suddenly thins in front of them.  Craig has his back to them, leaning against a piano, deep in conversation with Jonathon and somebody else who Luke assumes to be the pianist.  Jonathon, who is obviously watching out for their return, notices their approach and alerts Craig by placing one hand lightly on his forearm.

 

“Are you sure I look okay?” asks Luke running a finger round his collar.

 

“More than okay!” The younger man pushes Luke towards the already advancing Craig and turns back into the scrum.  “Gotta go – catch you later.” 

 

“Hi,” Luke says, resisting the urge to scrub his right trainer on the back of his trouser leg.

 

“Hi yourself,” Craig smiles.

 

“Don't laugh,” Luke warns.

 

“I wasn't going to,” Craig whispers hoarsely, his mouth suddenly very dry. 

 

There are friendly elbows jostling them about, and then there is some chanting and counting. There is the piped in sound of Big Ben chiming midnight and then there is glitter raining down on them and balloons floating down, and party poppers popping.  And it's all fuzzy when Luke remembers it afterwards except for the way his knees turned to jelly when he finally took Craig in his arms because it was what they had both come here for, and the way Craig tasted the first time they kissed in public.

 

...

 

Waking barely five hours after they had finally tumbled into bed, and a little more than half an hour before the alarm is due to ring, Luke is surprised to find himself still spooned into Craig's chest: their legs scissored together.  Usually early mornings find Luke flat on his back on one side of the bed with Craig sprawled face down on the other, no matter what positions they had settled down to sleep in the night before.  As he listens to the torrential rain beating down against the window he finds himself  becoming aroused by the hairs on Craig's thigh that are tickling his backside.  He lays still, allowing the sensation to build, hoping that the continuing noise of the storm outside will waken the sleeping form beside him.

 

Craig is actually woken by Luke rubbing very, very slowly back and forth against his leg as he rocks himself into his fist.

 

Craig rubs his face in Luke's hair.  “Is this a private party or can anyone join in?” he murmurs.

 

“Sorry,”  Luke mutters guiltily, stopping.

 

Craig shifts his thigh, pushing forwards and slightly up, to rub against the underside of Luke's balls.  “You don't have to stop on my account you know...”  He mouths his way down the vertebrae in Luke's neck as he runs his right hand along his lover's side.

 

Luke's breath catches in his throat, he shuts his eyes as his skin contracts involuntarily beneath Craig's intensely delicate caress.  Staying perfectly still, his cock held loosely in his hand, Luke is almost dreading the moment that Craig will scramble over him, roll him onto  his back, and take him in his mouth.  It's not what he wants this morning.  What he wants – he squeezes his eyes more tightly closed – needs – _this_ morning is Craig's hand - Luke tips his hips forward and arches back experimentally - finger – where his thigh is nestling. Right Now.  Luke rocks again as Craig's hand reaches the swell of his cheek, gasping with excitement when it curves back instead of forward, massaging into the smooth firm flesh, as Craig edges further down the bed behind him, before dragging his fingertips across the back of one thigh and, moves his leg away.  Luke whimpers with frustration, reaches down after the retreating limb with both hands, thrusts his bottom back to regain the sensation, and finds himself rubbing on Craig's forearm as a hand closes gently around his balls and squeezes, once, lightly.  Craig unfurls his fingers slowly, stroking the thinly stretched skin of Luke's perineum.  Following the movement as Luke bends his knee further across the bed, rolling bodily away from him, Craig sucks softly on Luke's hip when he bucks back against him once more, and flexes his thumb.  It rubs drily against Luke's sphincter: breaking his concentration and brings him crashing to a halt. 

 

“Shit.” Embarrassed, Luke flops onto his front to hide his disappointment.

 

“Sorry love.” Propping himself up on his side Craig  cautiously nuzzles his way inside the upflung arm covering Luke's face to kiss him.  “What do you want to do?” he asks, his breath hot on Luke's cheek.

 

Luke shrugs miserably into the pillow, wriggling against the mattress.

 

Craig strokes Luke's neck and shoulders.  “Do you want we should start again?”

 

Luke shakes his head.

 

Craig carries on stroking.  “Do you want a cuddle?”

 

Luke lifts his head, shifts his elbows beneath him, then rolls silently into Craig's waiting arms.

 

 

Resting on Craig's shoulder Luke's head feels warm and heavy, draped down Luke's back Craig's pleasantly numb fingers spiral lazily, whilst Luke's hand languorously circles his navel. 

 

“Feeling better?”

 

“Mmm.” Luke raises his head to peer at the time before cuddling closer. “That'll ring in a bit.”

 

“Bugger the clock!” Craig says sharply, irritably throwing his arm out to cancel the alarm. 

 

Luke's stomach drops.

 

Craig takes one look at his expression then climbs straight out of bed.

 

“Wait,” he says urgently, “I'm not going anywhere.” He opens the airing cupboard: thrusting his arm past a stack of towels: searching by feel for the pharmacist's bag he knows is there.  He slips a hand inside it, allowing his fingers to skate over a couple of packets of rubbers, he knows what Luke's hoping for but he'll just have to be a disappointed, before they close round  what he wants.

 

Luke can't wait, he is agonisingly hard with want and watching Craig: the movement of the muscle in his calf, the crease at the top of his thigh, Luke's throat contracts, the tantalizing glimpse of his cock between his legs, have him almost forgetting he can breathe.  Luke's lips are numb and his legs are trembling as he crawls to the bottom of the bed, slips his feet to the floor and crosses the short distance between them.  He clings to Craig for support, slipping his arms around him from the side, unable to resist grinding his cock against Craig's hip as he bites at his shoulder, swiping his tongue over the mark before it has chance to fade.  The bottle Craig's clutching in his hand is small and black, with a silver ram's head emblazoned upon it and, Luke flushes, the cap is already off. 

Craig holds off pouring lube into his hands, wraps his arms instead around Luke's shivering form and holding him close drops tiny kisses on his forehead, across his eyelids, down over the bridge of his nose to his lips.  Luke responds with desperately hot, wet kisses which keep Craig pinned against the door. Craig's hand slips down his spine, warm and slick, and Luke is so busy still kissing him that he doesn't realise at first that this isn't how he'd expected it to feel.

 

 

Luke's chin drops to his chest.

 

“Are you watching?” Craig asks thickly beside his ear.

 

“No,” Luke groans, bracing his arms against the wall.

 

“One day,” Craig murmurs from behind him as slippery fingers slide across his stomach and over his arse, where the occasional nudge of Craig's erection has it pouting already, “you're going to want to open your eyes and you'll _see_ ...”

 

Wet, slippery warmth surrounds him and his jaw begins to ache.

 

“And then you won't be able to stop yourself.” Craig continues, sucking a little on his ear as he slides well lubed fingers down between his cheeks.

 

Luke can't stand it any longer, his knees begin to buckle and Craig takes pity on him, moving him to the bed and rolling him down gently onto his back.

 

Craig sinks on his knees beside him, pausing only to tip even more bodyglide into his hands he strokes one  along Luke's shaft as the other hand slicks behind his balls.  “You'll fall so far – find out how fantastic it really can be.”

 

Luke's hands clutch at the sheets as Craig licks a broad stripe over his painfully swollen cock.  “Maybe one day when I'm sucking you.”    

 

“Please Craig,” Luke croaks, pushing his hands into Craig's hair as he sways his hips towards the feeling.

 

“Or you're sucking me.” Craig murmurs against his belly as the hand on his cock resumes its stroking again whilst his fingers trace wetly over tightly puckered skin.

 

Luke's fingers rake down Craig's arm.

 

“Or maybe one day when I'm inside you - I can wait...” Craig shifts a little,  barely working the head of Luke's penis with the fingertips of his left hand whilst his right strokes repeatedly, backwards and forwards, damply, between Luke's thighs.

 

Luke hitches himself higher, wanting more, shuddering helplessly as he rocks into the caress.

 

“Or,” Craig  has to concentrate, it would be so easy now to lose control - slick Luke and stretch him and - he bites the thought back.

 

“One day when,” he carries on relentlessly, curling his finger slightly when Luke next rocks up into his hand and tips, once, in through the ring of muscle and is gone.  

 

It's blunt and it's strange, but its a powerful feeling and Luke loses his rhythm for a moment - his feet scrabbling for purchase on the mattress.  Yet it feels strangely wrong when there's suddenly nothing there.

 

“You're inside me,” Craig whispers, watching Luke's face carefully as he slowly eases his finger back in.

 

Heat scorches through Luke's body, darkness closes in on him as he sinks down through the bed.  Whimpering, he surges up from the pillows desperately pulling Craig down on top of him as he continues to fall, still with his eyes screwed shut.


End file.
